


12 Shorts

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [42]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5365208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve short stories which lead to Reid’s transfer to Cryptology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dinner

When Hotch arrived home to the temporary apartment that night shortly after six p.m., there was a car already in his parking space – a late-model Honda Accord with Maryland plates. He could see lights upstairs in the apartment, and could see Jack jumping around, running back and forth. He thought he spotted another child through the windows. Puzzled, he parked in the next available spot, and hurried upstairs.

He stepped off the elevator, and could hear two children at the other end of the long corridor. It was Jack and a girl. She was taller than Jack, maybe a year or two older, but no more than eight.

“Yield, Seadog!” the girl shouted. They were racing around the hallway, brandishing wooden swords at one another. Jack stopped when he saw Hotch, and a wide grin swelled up his face. Jack ran over and brandished the wooden sword at him.

“Who dares trespass on my ocean?” Jack demanded.

“Jack, you need to use your inside voice,” Hotch scolded gently, frowning and shifting the box he was holding, and his attaché as well.

“Dread pirates don’t have inside voices,” Jack replied.

The girl rushed forward to join them. She lowered her wooden sword. She was carrying a wiggly, rubber hook which she clutched in one hand.

“Hi. Who are you?” Hotch asked the girl.

“Angie the sea witch,” she replied as if it wasn’t already perfectly obvious.

“Nice to meet you, Angie. Which apartment do you live in?”

Angie shook her head. “We don’t live here. We live in Bethesda. Too many Republicans in Virginia, Mom says.”

“You’re visiting?” Hotch nodded. Angie nodded back. “Would one of you open the door for me?” Hotch asked, maneuvering the box he was carrying to his other arm and fishing around for his keys. Before he could hand the keys to Jack, Angie was bellowing at the apartment door.

“MOM!” she wailed, pounding violently on the wooden portal.

The door opened at once. Bernie Rabovsky was drying her hands on a kitchen towel, and staring at Angie. Hotch could see the resemblance between them, now that he was seeing them together.

“WHAT?!” Bernie answered quite loudly. Angie took a step back. Bernie lowered her voice. “Sweetheart, do you know why little humans have the ability to make high-pitched distress noises?”

“No.”

“So parents will know when you are in extreme danger. In the future, unless you are bleeding profusely or you’re on fire, please don’t scream like that. You scared me. Are you in danger?”

“Well, no. I don’t think so.” 

“Then don’t shout like that.”

“But he could have been a stranger,” she added, pointing at Hotch, who exchanged a small smile with Bernie.

“This is Agent Hotchner. He’s Jack’s father.”

“But I thought….” Angie peered into the apartment, then she gave her mom a questioning look. "Oh, okay,” Angie nodded acceptingly. “Watch out. I think this one’s a Republican,” she whispered.

Bernie smiled apologetically at Hotch. Aaron felt his arms tilting downward. He looked over and saw two, small, brown eyes peering inside his box. He lifted the box higher, and Jack retreated.

“Hello?” Hotch said nervously to Bernie. 

“Hello,” Rabovsky smiled back. “Come inside.”

The tiny apartment kitchen smelled delicious – Hotch detected aromatic herbs and garlic, and baking bread. The bubbling brew of meat and spices on the stove brought drool to his mouth. Reid was tending the boiling pot. He was in work slacks, and had on a button-down shirt. Reid looked up at Hotch, and Aaron could tell he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself, had second thoughts, and went back to minding the pot on the stove. Reid looked embarrassed and unsure of himself.

Hotch immediately wanted to know how the talk with Strauss had gone. He hadn’t had a chance to ask at the office, because he had had to leave to interview Mrs. Finney before Reid had finished talking to Strauss. Then Reid had left, and Strauss had been gone the rest of the day. No one on the team knew how the talk had gone either, because they had all been in the middle of a briefing on a new case that was going to take them to Vermont on Friday morning. No one had seen Reid slip out of Strauss’s office and leave. With thoughts swirling in his head, Hotch followed Rabovsky inside the apartment, and ushered the children inside as well.

“Restroom!” Angie called out, scooting quickly down the hall, slamming the door, locking it, and turning on the water in the sink. Reid gazed at Hotch again, gave an apologetic shrug, and quickly darted his eyes away and down. Hotch’s heart was sinking into his stomach. Jack took off like a shot for his bedroom.

“Walk. Walk. Walk,” Hotch said. Jack took slow steps as far as the front room, and then flew like a fury through the hallway.

Rabovsky closed the apartment door, and with a questioning look, she motioned to the box Hotch was holding.

“This appeared on my desk around four,” Hotch said, giving her the box.

“Ah, yes. Davies wins again. Thank you,” Bernie sighed. Hotch knew he was missing something but he wasn’t sure what. “Here. I’ll mind the tagine,” she said, giving the box to Reid. “This is strictly off the record. No one can know that you’ve seen Ramirez’s project, but particularly Ramon. He’d be very upset.”

“I understand,” Reid agreed, accepting the box and hurrying for the dining room table. Hotch watched this exchange, and the sinking feeling in his chest went down even further, down into his knees. How had Reid’s meeting with Strauss gone? What had Strauss and Reid talked about? What did this have to do with Rabovsky? Why was she giving Reid a project from Cryptology?

“What’s for dinner?” Hotch asked Rabovsky, who put a lid on the boiling pot, turning down the heat. She popped the lid off another pot on the back of the stove, checking the consistency and water content of saffron rice. Pleased, she turned off the fire and snapped the lid back into place.

“Chicken tagine. In ten minutes. Do you like Middle Eastern cuisine? There’s cake too. My world famous strawberry-berry cake. Interested?”

“Sounds great,” Aaron smiled nervously. He scanned the kitchen, which was littered with the evidence of chopping, slicing, sprinkling, and such. There was something about the mess which touched a chord with him, made him think of how it had been to come home to Haley cooking dinner, how she would bounce back and forth around the house with the same energy that Jack displayed in his playful moods. Sadness filled Aaron’s heart, and took his breath away for a long pause.

Hotch managed a shallow breath when the bathroom door popped open. Angie the sea witch came running back to the kitchen. She gave him an uncertain look as she approached the countertop where he was standing, and where Rabovsky was starting to stack up small white bowls in order to put them in the dishwasher. Angie wasn’t sure she liked the forlorn look this stranger was giving her mother. She quickly put herself between Hotch and Rabovsky.

“Any bit of booty for loyal crew?” Angie asked hopefully.

Rabovsky produced a piece of flat bread sprinkled with traces of salt and herbs. She waved it at the child. Angie the sea witch snatched the bread up and hurried away before Rabovsky could pat her on the head. Bernie watched her leave, headed to Jack’s room no doubt. Sad nostalgia washed over her features.

“She looks so like my sister did at that age,” Rabovsky began, then broke away from the sentence, turning back to the sink. She was adrift in sad thoughts that were too painful to share.

Hotch put down his attaché and slid out of his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves. Hotch’s thoughts wandered too as he helped with cleaning up. There was something he missed about having a woman in his house – there was no two ways about that. He wanted to linger near Bernie, wanted to inhale the essence of having her here. Was that a sign of attraction? Was that a sign that he was still lonely for Haley, when he was drawn to someone who only remotely resembled her? Bernie was more like Cece than Haley though, and Hillenbrand had never done dishes at Hotch’s sink. They had shared many late night meals over hard cases. They had given off enough unresolved sexual tension that Haley had taken to showing up at Hotch’s office with dinner for three on the nights when he would work late. Cece had found that more than amusing. Hotch had not.

Hotch stacked dishes in the dishwasher and tried not to think about what it meant. Maybe it wasn’t about Haley at all, or Cece either one. Maybe it was about having a mother figure near again. His own mother had never been the sort to allow him this close when she was working. Maybe that was it. It wasn’t about missing Haley, or craving Cece, but about needing to enjoy the company of an accepting female presence, if only for a few minutes. Every man needed to feel that he would accepted in polite company. Nothing strange about that.

“You two work well together,” Reid said from the doorway of the kitchen, giving a hint of a smile. Hotch scowled at him, and the smile fell away. “There’s something odd about these notes,” Reid said, getting serious again.

“What’s that?” Bernie asked, turning around.

“Any chance of getting my hands on the originals?”

“Not right now there isn’t. Ramon is protective of his things. He turns in progress reports, but he does not let anyone see what he’s working on until he’s done. He’s territorial and cranky about it, which is why you’re getting copies and not the originals, at least for now.”

“You’re concerned about the progress he’s making?”

“I’m concerned that my agent is being led on a merry goose chase.”

“I realize it’s all out of order, but the pieces of text, this jumbled code, it has smatterings of several different languages in it. What is Ramirez working on?”

“Six months ago, he started receiving messages from an anonymous source out of Florida. Selected pieces of text from various literary works with words highlighted to spell out messages. At first, information arrived in care of our department, and then it began to arrive addressed specifically to Ramon. I found out two weeks ago that Ramon has been communicating with the source, something he had not revealed in his progress reports. I’m concerned. He reached out by sending messages to the post offices where the packages were coming from. He would mail post cards to the post offices and ask for the messages to be hung on bulletin boards. The source responded back to him, and it’s escalated from there.”

“Go on,” Reid requested.

“I thought it might have been someone anonymously giving us information on a band of drug runners or black market goods dealers in the Keys, because the packages were all mailed from post offices between Miami and Key West. Dr. Ramirez thought so too, but the more messages that he has received, the more it looks like the source is trying to convey a larger message than that. We aren’t sure what though. What concerns me is that the origination points are now moving up the coast. If I’m not mistaken, the source is headed this way.”

“Odd,” Reid commented. “Is he getting closer because it’s part of the plan, or because Dr. Ramirez reached out to him?”

“The longer Ramon has worked to decipher what the messages mean, the more complex the messages are growing, jumping from language to language to language, different books, different cultures, different eras. Ramon is essentially having to learn the languages and read the source material as the code switches around. He’s sending messages in one language and receiving them in the next language. Each time, a new language.”

“Is your source changing the languages, to stay ahead of the authorities?” Reid asked, then shook his head no. “But why contact Dr. Ramirez specifically if his concern is staying ahead of the authorities? That doesn’t make sense. He clearly wants to talk to someone, and the message must be important or he wouldn’t be going to all this trouble.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought too,” Rabovsky answered as she and Hotch filled the dishwasher in tandem. Reid paused for a second and tilted his head as he watched them. Hotch gave Reid a warning look.

“Watch out for him. He’ll wait till we’re not looking, he’ll come back and rearrange everything,” Aaron teased.

“No, I won’t,” Reid replied.

“Yes, you will,” Aaron replied back.

“I can make more efficient use of the space, that’s all,” Reid defended. Hotch chuckled softly and let it go. “Are you afraid the source is toying with Dr. Ramirez, or that Dr. Ramirez is toying with you?” Reid asked Bernie.

“Could be both, either, or neither,” she replied.

Spencer turned his attention back to the copy of the text he was holding. He was intrigued. He was bothered. He was shining brightly with excitement. Hotch watched Spencer, and felt his heart beating fast. Reid turned slowly and headed back for the table, whispering to himself.

“This text is so familiar,” Reid murmured.

“Isn’t it a sub-dialect of Russian?” Bernie asked.

“It’s Old Church Slavonic -- a medieval liturgical language used primarily in southeastern Europe. But the excerpt, that’s what’s familiar from somewhere. Where’s my phone?” he asked, leaping back out of his chair. He returned moments later, and laid the paper out on the table in order to take a full picture of the entire page. Then he concentrated on the highlighted words, mouthing them to himself.

“Think I’ve sparked his interest?” Bernie asked Hotch carefully.

“Maybe,” Hotch nodded back. “I take it Strauss has okayed Reid returning to work?”

“Um…. you two haven’t talked?” Bernie asked nervously.

"No,” Aaron murmured. Bernie glanced at Reid and turned her shoulder so Reid couldn’t see what she was whispering to Hotch.

“Strauss okayed his return to work.” 

“But?” Aaron prodded.

“Hotchner, I’m really short-staffed at the moment.” 

“So?” Hotch growled.

“When I learned Reid was coming back, I went to Strauss and requisitioned your genius again. I begged. I pleaded. I promised cookies. Strauss finally agreed to my demands. Reid can return to work, but BAU has to share Reid with Cryptology until further notice.”

“But…”

“Strauss’s orders,” Bernie frowned. Hotch frowned harder.

“She couldn’t tell me this herself?” Hotch growled. 

“No,” Bernie answered under breath.

“Why not?”

“I’m sure she thought you would take it better coming from him. ” 

“He didn’t tell me,” Hotch muttered.

“That’s not my fault.”

They looked up, and found they were being observed by two very grumpy amber-brown eyes.

“Don’t get excited, either of you. This is only temporary,” Reid said firmly.


	2. Dessert for Two

“So we can box up our things this weekend, starting tomorrow night,” Reid said as he was stacking copies together and putting them back in the box on the dining table.

“What?” Hotch called out from the kitchen. He peered around the doorway and watched Reid. Spencer glanced up from his notes, then put them down when he caught Hotch’s stern eyes.

“I talked to the fire marshal. We can go back in the house this weekend when the contractors are there to assess how to begin the repairs. While we are there, we can box up our things.”

“Mm hmm. Okay,” Hotch muttered crossly. Reid kept watching him.

“You were with Mrs. Finney, or I would have told you immediately.

Strauss got called away from our meeting, or she would have talked to you, though I suspect, as Agent Rabovsky said, that Strauss was hoping I would have a chance to tell you before she had no choice but to tell you. Strauss was gone the rest of the afternoon, so perhaps tomorrow morning?”

“You’re cleared to return to work, but I have to share you with Rabovsky?”

“The BAU has to share me with Cryptology,” Reid corrected primly before pursing his lips and tightening his eyes. “You and Bernie do work well together, by the way. Yes, she does look like Haley. And yes, I did notice you staring at her ass while she was filling the dishwasher.”

“I was not,” Hotch defended. Another sharp look from Reid cut off any further denials. Hotch fought with a smile. He had forgotten how cute Reid was when burning with ill-concealed jealousy.

“Long story short, the Internal Investigations Board has concluded that my actions after my confrontation with Doug in the training rooms did not in any way antagonize Agent Eberhard into the dramatic course of action that he chose to take, and so I have been cleared of all wrong-doing in his death. I will be allowed to return to work, starting Monday. I have been reinstated, but only with the proviso that my time will be split between the BAU and Cryptology, partly because Cryptology is so short-staffed at the moment, but also because Strauss said she is being pressured by the Brass to keep me out of the field and out of physical danger. They’re apparently concerned about losing a valuable asset. No need to risk me when there are more capable field agents available. They’re hoping I will have less contact with dangerous situations if I remain at Quantico instead of traveling with the team. I will be on call, as Garcia is, and splitting time between the BAU and Cryptology.”

Hotch could not miss the bitter annoyance attached to those words.

“Did Rabovsky really bribe Strauss with cookies?” Hotch wondered. Reid paused, raised a brow, and shrugged both shoulders.

“It’s possible,” he responded. He paused a second before adding, “I hope to make these conditions as painless as possible. Please don’t be an ass to Rabovsky.”

Hotch snorted laughter and hid behind the kitchen wall again.

“I won’t be an ass to anyone, but I’m not letting her take you away from me without a fight. You’re a valuable member of my team. We work as a unit,” he called out. “When you’re not there, my team is compromised.”

“It’s only temporary,” Reid soothed.

“I’m not surprised Strauss didn’t have the balls to tell me face to face, but you? You should have told me.”

“I am telling you. And I’m telling you, don’t be an ass about this. You think I’m happy, being kept under lock and key at Quantico? Not being allowed to go in the field like I’m some half-assed cadet with no practical experience. You think I like being shopped around to other departments like a highly-skilled whore? No. I’m not happy. Thank you for noticing.”

“Reid, I…”

“I’m not an asset. I’m a person. My brain is not a commodity. I feel like… I feel like an exhibit in a freak show. I don’t like being caged up and dragged around so people can stare at me.”

“You’re not a freak,” Hotch whispered from the doorway, peering out of the kitchen again.

“While it is true that I do like a good paper trail, and I know that I could be useful to Cryptology, and that I might even enjoy it, what annoys me is I know damned well Strauss agreed to Rabovsky’s request because she knows it will piss you off. She wants to make Brass happy too, but her reward in this will be watching your reaction.”

“You’re angry. I understand,” Hotch murmured.

“I forgot to tell you the best part,” Reid gave a sickly, faint smirk. 

“What’s that?” Hotch cringed.

“She’s giving you someone to help in my absence.” 

“What?” Hotch blanched.

“Strauss is going to give you an agent to fill in for me when I’m not there, someone who can travel with the team and be of service to you.”

“Strauss thinks she can replace you? So she’s got an agent in mind who’s a geographic profiler, a linguistics expert, an engineer, a chemist, a mathematical genius, a literary expert, a psychologist, a veteran agent familiar with Bureau criminal law procedures and interrogation techniques, fluent in six languages, with big brown Bambi eyes? Because really, that’s what I need on my team,” Hotch rambled. Reid’s sour expression was beginning to fade. He was actually blushing.

“Well, I don’t know about Bambi eyes, but Torgeson is a ballistics expert, a skilled marksman, and he’s at least bilingual. He speaks fluent Japanese. He was stationed in Okinawa when he was in the Navy.”

“You’ve met him?”

“This afternoon, yes. You’ll like him.” 

“Will I?”

“He also received above average ratings in hand-to-hand combat on all of his evaluations. He’s very fit. He’ll be good in rough situations, an area where I am nothing but a liability.”

“That’s not true,” Hotch lied. Reid gave him a scouring glance. “This isn’t temporary as far as Strauss is concerned, or she wouldn’t be offering me Torgeson,” Hotch muttered, coming out and sitting down at the table.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Reid pouted.

Hotch rested one elbow on the wood and put his chin in his palm, gently pushing a small plate between the two of them. A thick piece of pink cake with pink frosting, dotted with raspberries and strawberries, rested on the white circle.

“How long do you suppose Strauss has been dying to spring this on me?” Aaron whispered.

Reid picked up one of the forks and speared a bite. He lifted the bite to Hotch’s mouth while giving him an acidic stare.

“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” Reid murmured.

“Strauss hates me,” Hotch whined around a mouthful of pink cake. Reid managed a thin smile.

“I don’t like the situation any more than you do, but unless you want to see me go howling-at-the-moon crazy, these are the conditions we must both accept so I can return to work,” Spencer murmured, feeding Hotch a second bite right after the first one.

“I’m not going to give Strauss the satisfaction,” Hotch mumbled, picking up his fork and feeding a bite of cake to Reid, watching him lick a dot of pink frosting from his lips.

“What?” Reid whispered.

“Strauss. I’m not going to let her get to me with this. I’m not going to dance for her amusement.”

“Hotch, be careful.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t be insubordinate. I won’t be nasty. I won’t even be unkind,” Hotch reassured him. “But I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me upset either.”

“Okay. Whatever you’ve got in mind, don’t get yourself fired, that’s all. We need two incomes if we’re going to get repairs done to the house.”

“I will be the model of professionalism,” Hotch smiled wickedly, feeding Spencer another bite.

“I expect nothing less of you,” Reid replied.

Aaron scooped up a fingertip of pink frosting, and dotted it to the tip of Reid’s nose. Spencer took Hotch’s hand, and slowly sucked and licked Aaron’s finger clean. Aaron inhaled anxiously, heart accelerating as his dark eyes lit up.

“Why don’t we finish dessert in the bedroom?” Hotch suggested deeply. Reid concurred with a wicked wink and a warm smile.


	3. Flying Monkeys

It was Friday morning, 7 a.m., and Hotch was at his desk in his office, sorting his thoughts for the day. He had typed up his notes from the Finney interview. All the while, he had been daydreaming about Spencer Reid covered with dots of pink cream, how he had licked the sweet, berry-flavored frosting away from Spencer’s searing hot skin. Last night, they had made their temporary bed squeak like an over-used trampoline. This morning, Spencer had been sound asleep when Hotch had crept out of bed. Hotch had done his best to exhaust every last ounce of tension in his lover, and as he watched Reid sleeping in a tumble of sheets and blankets, a tiny smile curling his long thin mouth, Aaron couldn’t help but feel he had done a fine job.

Jack must had heard them last night. He must have. Hotch’s son had been really quiet at breakfast, but was hiding giggles every time his father would look at him. He and Jack might have to have a serious talk when Hotch got back from Vermont.

The serious part of Agent Hotchner’s brain poked him and told him to concentrate on the task at hand. Hotch sighed. Concerning Mrs. Finney, he was of the opinion that she was not a dangerous sociopath, but a deeply-angry woman who had wanted to do more with her life than she had been allowed to do. She was someone who couldn’t deal with this anger in a functional manner and was therefore lashing out against those she loved the most, those most responsible for keeping her in the servile position in which she was chaffing with boredom and frustration. While true he had no choice but to see her prosecuted for her crimes, the fact that she had turned herself in, and that she hadn’t been foul or angry or upset with him, those facts went a long way in convincing Hotch that she felt remorse and she wanted help.

Her final words to Hotch had made the hair on his neck stand up though. “You remind me of Ricky,” she had said as he was leaving the interrogation room. Ricky had been her first husband, presumably her first victim. It wasn’t a very comforting thought that he reminded her of Ricky. It was the wrong feeling to end their interview on. Hotch hoped he might have a chance to talk with Mrs. Finney again. What was it about Ricky that had caused her to finally snap? He hadn’t learned that yet, and he was curious to know what had pushed her over the edge.

Someone behind Hotch cleared their throat. He turned around in his chair. Morgan was standing in the doorway, frowning, arms crossed over his chest. Prentiss was two steps behind, wearing pretty much the same expression.

“Good Morning. Can I help you?” Hotch asked. 

"Where's Reid?" Morgan asked bluntly.

“Strauss was swanning through the lobby. She’s headed this way,” Prentiss warned.

“Duly noted,” Hotch replied grimly.

“She’s got someone in tow who is carrying a box of personal items, and he looks real nervous,” Morgan added. “Anything you’d like to share with the group?”

“Hush. Elevator coming down. Doors opening,” Prentiss said, coming into Hotch’s office and sitting down in the first chair in front of his desk. Morgan reluctantly took the second chair. No one said anything as the silver doors parted and Strauss stepped out, motioning for someone else to follow.

Hotch glanced over at his computer, where a screen saver of new pictures of Jack had started up. Jack was peering out of his wooden pirate ship, brandishing a toy sword, and grinning at the camera. Hotch let his eyes drift out the windows to the left of the computer. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself.

Strauss spotted the team, and headed towards Hotch’s office.

“His name is Karl Torgeson, and Reid says we’ll like him,” Hotch murmured. “Be on your best behavior, please.”

Prentiss’s eyes got wide. Morgan inhaled deeply, and he seemed to swell with anger.

“Reid has been transferred?” Prentiss gasped. 

“Best behavior,” Hotch begged.

“Look at her smiling,” Derek grumbled.

“There are days when all that woman lacks is an army of flying monkeys,” Prentiss whispered in reply. Strauss was undoubtedly close enough to hear what Prentiss had said. Erin's cold eyes centered on Emily, and Emily stared back, angry but contained. Hotch held his smile until he feared his face would crack. He was glad to see Morgan fighting a smile as well.

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” Strauss said as she made it to Hotch’s office door. “I assume you’ve spoken with Dr. Reid and with your team?”

“Good morning, ma’am. Yes, I've spoken to Dr. Reid. No, I have not filled the rest of my team in on all the conditions you placed on Dr. Reid's return. I was waiting for Rossi and Jareau to arrive.”

“Why don't we all step into the conference room, where we can wait for the others to arrive?” Strauss ordered. She headed that direction without another word. The self-satisfied smile she was wearing said it all.

The agent behind her paused at Hotch’s door. He was young – early to mid thirties? – with hair and brows so blond as to be almost invisible against his fair skin. Medium height. Medium build. He had a Sig Sauer on his right hip, and a small knife sheathed next to his handgun. He had bright blue eyes and an eager face. Hotch was immediately on his feet and sticking out a hand.

“Agent Torgeson? I’m SSA Hotchner.”

“Good to meet you, sir. I’ve heard many things about you and your team,” he said, holding his box with one hand and sticking the other at Hotch.

“Don’t believe a word of it,” Hotch murmured, giving the nervous agent a pat on the arm along with his handshake. “This is Agent Morgan, and Agent Prentiss.”

“Good morning,” the agent greeted them and relaxed a little. Prentiss and Morgan stood up. Morgan stared hard at Torgeson, but Emily smiled, ever the diplomat.

“Leave your things here,” Hotch ordered. He took the box away after they finished shaking hands. Prentiss snatched up Torgeson’s hand and shook it as well.

“Call me Emily,” she said, studying the young man.

“Call me Torg,” Karl replied, watching Hotch’s eyes fall into the container of personal effects as he set it on his desk.

Aaron had about three seconds to catalogue and profile the contents: a few random pens – some with the caps chewed off, two frayed spiral notebooks, an elementary manual/primer on ballistics, an unfinished granola bar, a pack of cinnamon gum, a mug with the Swedish flag on the side and a tiny chip out of the rim, several sugar packets, a few spent bullet casings, a paper airplane, and a picture of a woman with dark hair holding a small boy with Torgeson’ s features.

From these items, Hotch decided the following things: judging from the similarities in the features between the boy in the picture and Torgeson, and the fact he was not wearing a wedding ring, Torgeson was a single father too. He was familiar with handguns, but he kept the elementary primer because it was an object that lent emotional comfort. He was either an ex-smoker or he had an oral-fixation. How was his relationship with his mother? What to make of the paper airplane? Was he prone to joking around or did he have a fascination with aeronautics? Hotch looked at the plane again – it had been folded out of a report written in an Anglicized Asian language, with the English translation on one side and the original characters on the other side. Reid had said Torg was fluent in Japanese. But what kind of reports were these?

Torgeson let go of Prentiss’s hand and turned to Morgan. Derek relented, taking Torg’s hand.

“Derek Morgan. It’s not you. It’s the circumstances. Don’t take it personally.”

“Yes, sir,” Torg nodded. “I understand. If you think you’re pissed, you should see my SSA. He’s really annoyed.”

“Ballistics. Stewart, right?” Hotch murmured. Torg nodded.

Strauss had returned to the doorway. Or perhaps she had only stepped away long enough for everyone to greet everyone else and to watch how civil they were going to be to each other. She stared at Hotch and she waited. She could barely hold back her brimming smile.

“I see we’ve made acquaintances. Shall we wait in the conference room?” she asked, sweet as honey.

Prentiss followed Strauss away. Morgan fell into her wake. Torgeson gave Hotch an apologetic glance, waited one second, and turned to him.

“You and your little dog Toto too,” Torg whispered, shuddering. Hotch barked a quick laugh which he judiciously masked behind a sudden cough.


	4. Let's Not Talk About Vegas

Reid nudged Jack into the booth at the diner, and slid in beside him. The waitress gave them a kind smile and handed them two menus. They were becoming regulars here. Jack was swinging his feet and playing with his silverware already. He was bored and restless, but then so was Reid.

“Where did Dad go this time?” Jack asked, opening his menu and glancing up and down at the pictures of food, his eyes darting over the descriptions without much interest.

“Montpelier, which is the capital of which northeastern state?”

“Narnia,” Jack grinned. Spencer lowered his menu and waited for the correct response. “Vermont,” Jack sighed. “Why is Dad in Vermont?”

“He’s working,” Reid whispered. Hotch and Reid tried not to talk about the exact nature of cases in front of Jack.

“Why didn’t you get to go with him?” Jack wondered.

“I return to work on Monday.”

“So you’re going to Vermont on Monday?”

“No. I will be staying at the office, and if they need me, the team will call me.”

“Oh. You’re grounded,” Jack decided. Reid contemplated that conclusion, and nodded.

“It would seem so.”

“What did you do wrong?” Jack asked.

“I’m not built like Uncle Morgan. I can’t kick down doors, or beat people up.”

“Is that important?” Jack wondered. 

“Some people apparently think so.”

“That sucks,” Jack intoned. Reid snorted softly. “You don’t look happy,” Jack added.

“I’m not happy. I’m….I’m pouting. It’s very childish. I’m sorry. What do you want to eat?”

“I’m not very hungry,” Jack replied. 

“Me either,” Reid sighed.

“You could get a different job,” Jack suggested. Reid looked over at the youngster, and seemed to be pondering the thought very strongly. But then he bunched his brows together again, and he shook the ideas away.

“I like my job. It’s the people who make me feel stabby.” 

“Does Dad ever make you feel stabby?” Jack asked. Reid gave a high-pitched squeal of amusement, then patted Jack on the head.

“Would you like a nibble now, and then something more substantial later?” he asked without answering the question.

“Yeah,” Jack nodded.

There was shuffling and rustling across the table from them. Reid lowered his menu, assuming that the waitress was back. Two familiar faces were now seated across the booth from Jack and Spencer.

“I can recommend the beef tips and noodles, and also the corned beef sandwich. Avoid the spare ribs, as the chef leans heavy on the smoke and light on the sauce,” Lieutenant Spaulding said matter-of-factly.

“Mimi. She’s a really good waitress. Be nice to her,” Miles murmured as he began to fuss with the packets of sweetener in the small porcelain square.

“I have to tell you – I am impressed. This is the first I’ve seen of any of you since Vegas,” Reid smiled faintly. “It is so much easier to blend in in an urban environment, isn’t it?” He would never admit it, but today it did give him a measure of comfort to know that his surveillance team was at hand.

“It is a good deal easier, yes,” the lieutenant nodded.

“How’s Goody?” Reid asked. “Thank you so much for looking after him.”

“You’re welcome. He and Snippet are getting along famously. They were chasing each other around the kitchen last night. It was very cute.”

“Who’s Snippet?” Reid asked. 

“My whippet.”

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“He’s not a dog. He’s a child with a tail,” Spaulding answered. The hint of a sentimental smile briefly turned up the side of her mouth, but then she narrowed her eyes and put the smile away, and became all business once more. “Let’s talk about Vegas, Dr. Reid.”

Reid shook his head no as his friendly demeanor vanished. “Let’s not talk about Vegas,” he begged.

“You took unnecessary risks, and I am not happy with you.” 

“I was upset.”

“Clearly you weren’t thinking straight,” Spaulding ground out the words. “I read the captain’s report. If it had been me there instead of Magnusson, I’d’ve broken protocol, and dragged you out of there by the nape of your neck. I’d’ve kicked your ass all the way back to DC.”

“Let’s not talk about Vegas,” Reid reiterated with slightly more force. His request went unanswered the second time too. Spaulding darted her eyes at Jack, who was watching their conversation with great interest. She reached over and covered his ears with both hands and dropped her voice.

“Very well. But only with the firm promise that the next time you go to Vegas, you won’t be trolling around the red light district at 2 a.m.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I’m well aware that nothing happened. That’s not the point.” 

“I understand where you’re going with the conversation, Lieutenant, but I don’t feel this is the time or the place to discuss it,” Reid murmured. The lieutenant frowned at him.

“Agent Hotchner isn’t the only person who will kick your ass if you fall off the wagon. I lost my best friend from high school to heroin. I watched Tanya fall apart over some no-good, piece-of-shit who broke her heart, and I didn’t have the first clue how to help her.” 

“I understand.”

“Her mother found Tanya dead in the basement with the needle still in her arm. None of us even knew she had been taking drugs. Her mother cried through the entire funeral, holding my hand. Kept asking me why this had to happen to such a beautiful girl with so much promise. I’m not going through that again. You think I want to be sitting in church at your funeral, asking myself why?”

“No, ma’am.”

“All right then. There will be no more trolling for a drug fix in the red light district of Las Vegas at 2 in the morning. You bet your ass you didn't score anything. General Scott had Magnusson take out three different shady characters who were following you, to say nothing of the hookers you kept attracting. Were you actively attempting to get yourself hurt??"

"No," Reid murmured, though the answer was probably, unconsciously, yes, he had been, because physical pain would have been a welcome distraction from the emotional pain he was going through that night.

"There are any number of people you can call if you get that feeling again, starting with myself. Am I clear?"

“Understood,” Reid replied.

“Good. Enough pleasantries," Spaulding decided, letting go of Jack's ears and sitting back on her own side of the booth. "Let’s talk about today. You are off to see some different apartments, I take it?” she asked.

“That’s the plan,” Reid nodded, his smile returning.

“Not happy with the current choice?” Spaulding wondered. 

“Someone who will remain unnamed is a bit loud for the apartment environment. Boisterous. Noisy. We’ve already had complaints from the neighbors who have encountered the Dread Pirate Hotchner in the hallways and on the elevator. To say nothing of the poor woman he cornered in the laundry room,” Reid sighed, giving Jack a stern glance.

“I see,” Spaulding said, looking at Jack, who managed to appear quite innocent.

“Once you’ve been in a house, an apartment can seem confining. Besides that, our bed squeaks. It’s very distracting,” Reid added softly, glancing down at his menu.

“How were you making the bed squeak?” Jack puzzled. Reid gave him a sideways glance. Spaulding’s brows rose, and Miles turned red.

“Ask me again in ten years, and I’ll explain,” Reid murmured. Jack frowned at him. “We’re on a very short timeline. I go back to work on Monday. We have to make this happen this weekend. Today if possible,” Reid added.

“Happy coincidence. It so happens, the general asked me to approach you with an alternative proposal, if you are at all inclined, and you can say no, but he wants to offer anyway,” Spaulding continued, producing a folder from under the table and sliding it towards Reid. “It’s one of our safe houses. It’s about five miles from your house. You can easily get Little Hotch to school on time, and you can commute past your house on the way to work in order to watch the progress on the renovations.”

“Hmm,” Reid hummed neutrally.

“It’s a single family home in a nice, quiet neighborhood. It’s a bedroom community, a non-descript house, nothing showy, nothing fancy, just like any other corner house on a street in suburbia,” Spaulding whispered.

“Oh, are we house hunting?!” the waitress said as she returned. Reid closed the folder and allowed her to pour him some coffee.

He could tell from the smell that it was freshly-brewed, and that cheered him up. 

"What a cute couple you two are! I wondered who the boy took after. Will we need two more menus?”

“Yes, please,” Reid nodded. “Thank you.”

Mimi the waitress handed a menu to Miles and to Spaulding, who set it down without opening it and waited patiently for the waitress to leave. After she filled two more cups of coffee, she went away. Reid opened the folder once more, quietly nosing through the details. Jack scooted closer, got up under Reid’s left arm to get a better look inside the folder. He dotted the pictures with tiny fingerprints.

“Could I have my own room?” Jack asked. Spencer smiled and nodded, stroking the boy’s hair.

“It is very nice,” Reid said finally. “Looks comfortable. Very spacious. The location is right. Ask the general when we can move in.”

“You like it?” Miles babbled.

“You’ll take it?” Spaulding echoed. They blinked at each other, and Spaulding jumped up from the booth. She sprinted outside and pulled out her cell phone, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk as she spoke. Mimi returned in Spaulding’s absence, pen and pad in hand.

“So what are we having?” she asked with a bright smile.

“Two hot fudge brownie sundaes with chocolate chocolate-chip ice cream, whipped cream, and nuts,” Reid said, giving her both his and Jack’s menus.

“Awesome,” Jack grinned.

“We’re eating broccoli later,” Reid warned. Jack didn't believe him for a second.

“Two more of the same,” Miles said, giving up his and Spaulding’s menus. The lieutenant was pacing back and forth, talking animatedly on the phone, presumably with General Scott.

By the time Spaulding returned, Mimi had brought their sundaes. Jack was digging in with great gusto for someone who supposedly wasn’t hungry. Reid was nibbling. Miles was making inroads at a fair pace. Spaulding sat down at her place and eyed the sundae that waited for her.

“Oh, Miles. This is what happens when I leave you to your own devices,” Spaulding murmured. He smiled at her and continued eating. Amy picked up her spoon, sighed, and took a tiny bite.

“How the general?” Reid asked.

“Delighted. He said that he’d have your things in the new place by this evening. Not to worry.”

“What?” Reid coughed.

“When Ensign James reported last night that you were calling making appointments to see apartments today, the general decided that the odds were fifty-fifty that you might accept an offer of a safe house, so he took the initiative and had a team go through your home and box everything up for you. They were done in three hours. They’ll have everything laid out properly in the new place by eight this evening. Whatever won't fit, we'll put in storage in the attic.”

“Boxed… things… up?” Reid whispered nervously.

“Then we’ll get a team to work on cleaning up the smoke damage. These guys are pros. When they’re done, you won’t be able to tell anything ever happened,” Spaulding promised.

“-“ Reid stared at her, blinking.

“All we have to do is get the few things you three have at the apartment, and find something to do for five hours,” she continued. “We can even have an assessment team meet with the contractors if you’re not comfortable doing that sort of thing. General Scott built a cabin in West Virginia from scratch. He’ll know if they’re talking bullshit to you or not.”

“Hotch can handle them, but please extend my thanks to the general,” Reid managed finally.

“We’re here to help,” Spaulding shrugged, taking another tentative bite of her sundae. “Lieutenant, I hope you don’t have any plans after your shift, because you will be on the treadmill right beside me while I work off the 800-plus calories in this sundae.”

“You could use more chocolate in your life, ma'am,” Miles replied a timid smile.

“I need more sex, not more chocolate,” she answered. Jack’s eyes went wide.


	5. Torg Opens Up

“You have reached the voice mailbox of SSA Aaron Hotchner. You have one unheard message. First message.”

“ 'Hi. It’s me. By the time you get this message, we will already be moved into the new place. It occurred to me that you need directions. This is the third time I’ve tried to call, and I keep getting your voice mail. You must be busy. I am so jealous. I could have emailed the directions to you, if I knew which box my laptop was packed down in. That’s the military for you. Nothing if not efficient. Don’t panic. If you aren’t out of the parking lot yet, pull over, stop, and listen to the entire message. Have you stopped yet? Good.' ”

Hotch put his SUV in park and smiled to himself as Morgan drove past him, a wondering look on his face. JJ drove by next, watching him closely as well. It wasn’t often they saw Hotch sitting in his car listening to his messages, grinning like an idiot. Prentiss pulled up, rolled down her passenger window, and waved at him.

“Everything okay?” she asked. Hotch rolled down the driver’s window and put the phone on speaker.

“ 'Do you remember that neighborhood about five miles away where I went looking for a house before I found this one? I must have seen four houses over there. You thought I should have taken the blue house. Do you remember the blue house? Three bedrooms, two-car garage, pool in back? It’s a block from here. You’ll be happy that I didn’t get that house, because not only is this the Uber-Suburbia that I feared, apparently General Scott has three different safe houses in about a two-mile radius. Practically everyone else who lives here either works at Quantico, the Pentagon, or for the Department of Defense. We’re at 5645 Three Feathers Lane. I know you can find directions on MapQuest or Google, so I won’t bore you to death by leaving you directions here, but be careful when you pull in the driveway, because Bessie is parked there, much to the dismay of the neighborhood association. I will pull her into the garage tomorrow morning. The president of the neighborhood association lives across the street from us. She was standing on her porch, watching the “movers” carry the boxes in. I think she was even taking notes. Oh God. Bet she knows when everyone goes to work and when everyone gets home too. What a busybody!' ”

"It's Reid," Hotch explained. Prentiss nodded. She waved to him, rolled her window up, and started moving again. Rossi drove by next, waved, and kept going.

“ 'I hope the case in Montpelier went well. Hope you weren’t too hard on Torgeson. He’s a very capable agent, and he’ll be invaluable in the field. Give him a chance. Don’t let Morgan give him a wedgie on his first day with the team.'

'Oh, Goody is back home. Spaulding brought him by once we were settled in. He’s a little jumpy because he has spent a couple days being chased around the lieutenant’s house by Snippet the Whippet, who barks at everyone and everything: squirrels, his shadow, his own tail, sunlight. That’s very unusual for whippets, I understand, for them to be so vocal. She brought him along for the ride. He stood on the porch and barked at me for ten minutes. Goody is shaken up. Be nice to him. He’s sitting under the bed in Jack’s room, refusing to come out.'

'Jack’s asleep, by the way. His hand is much better. We took the wraps off for good. It’s pink on top, but healing very nicely. In a few months, you won't even be able to see the burn unless you look for it.'

'I’m in our room, lying on our bed. You’ll be happy to know it does not squeak. We can fuck all night on this thing, and it won’t make a sound. I tightened the screws, squirted some WD40. Piece of cake. Yes. Mmm hmm hmm. Piece of cake. Speaking of which, I haven't found the box which holds the contents of our nightstands. I'm wondering if some genius put it in the attic. I can't believe they would have labeled the box 'sexual gratification devices', but I can't imagine where our toys have gone. Actually, I can imagine, but I'm trying very hard not to imagine, if you know what I mean. I assure you, I will be very careful helping Jack unpack any box marked 'toys'. I can see into Jack’s room from here. It’s all dark except for these big green eyes under his bed. Goody is not a happy kitty. Not one bit. Watch when you come in that he doesn’t get out the front door. I’ll leave a key out for you. See you when you get here. Don’t be too late. I’ll be waiting for you. Naked.' ”

There was a soft chuckle from the other seat. Torgeson looked sheepishly out the window. Hotch shut off his phone and cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s all right,” Torgeson replied, smiling. “I had heard the rumors about you two. No big deal.”

“Hard to keep any relationship secret forever,” Hotch mused.

“Pretty hard,” Torg replied. “How is he taking the transfer?” 

“It’s not a transfer,” Hotch grumbled.

“Strauss feels it will only be a matter of months before Dr. Reid is in Cryptology full time.”

Hotch’s features darkened, but he held his tongue on the topic of Assistant Director Erin Strauss. What was her connection to Torg, and why had she chosen him to place in the BAU? Was Torg a mole? Was he a pawn? Was he her lackey? Her flying monkey, as Prentiss might suggest.

“It’s going to take a small period of adjustment, but I’m sure it will all work out in the end,” Hotch offered.

“I was going over all of this in my head on the plane while working on my report, and I think I’ve figured out why Strauss wants me on your team,” Torgeson said.

“You have?” Hotch asked, starting the SUV in motion again. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this conversation, but he wasn't sure Torg knew what he was getting himself into, walking into a contentious conversation with a former prosecutor in a grumpy mood.

“It’s only a matter of time before Morgan will be heading his own team.”

“Most likely, yes,” Hotch agreed. “Derek has refused offers before, but I doubt that will happen again.”

“There’s rumors all around the Quad that Prentiss has been offered a job overseas by an old friend of hers, so she’s probably not going to be around for long either.”

“I had heard the whispers too,” Hotch said.

“Garcia is a top-flight technical analyst, but she’s absolutely no use to you in the field. Rossi isn’t getting any younger. I would give him a year, tops, before he decides to take a consulting job and hang up the credentials again.”

“Correct on both accounts.”

“With all due respect, sir, you’re not getting any younger either.”

“No. No, I’m not,” Hotch admitted, quelling the sudden desire to throttle the brutal if honest Torgeson.

“I saw today that you can certainly handle yourself in the field, but if Morgan leaves to head his own team, or Prentiss goes abroad again, with or Rossi decides to retire again, that essentially leaves only Agent Jareau and Dr. Reid.”

“Yes.”

“Is JJ always like that?” Torg winced. 

“Like what?” Hotch bluffed.

“Like she’s auditioning for an episode of Charlie’s Angels,” Torg rumbled.

“Sorry she miscalculated her kick. Sorry about the black eye.”

“Yeah. Sorry I smacked her. Reflex, I guess. Hope her nose heals soon.”

“I’ll talk with her,” Hotch said, fighting a smile.

“But as I was saying, Strauss probably feels you need a couple agents who can hold their own physically in the field.”

“Do you share Strauss’s opinion that Dr. Reid doesn’t belong in the field?” Hotch tested.

“I wouldn’t call Dr. Reid a liability, but just like Agent Jareau, his physical limitations do present you with a dilemma. How do you balance what they can and can’t do? I do know that you wouldn’t have acquiesced to Strauss’s terms if you didn’t agree on some level that Reid is at risk. Are you sounding me out, wondering if I agree with you? Do you want a neutral opinion? Do you want a dissenting opinion? Is it easier to parse out your own thoughts if you hear them out loud? Quite frankly, I don’t think Dr. Reid is your biggest problem. Agent Jareau is.”

“Torgeson, I don’t need anyone’s two-cents when it comes to analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of my team or the individual members. Dr. Reid is an integral part of my team. He doesn’t need to run a three-minute mile to prove that. During most of our cases, he is in the local command center, doing geographic profiling, linguistic analysis, victimology, combing over evidence for anything we might have previous missed. I don’t generally risk him if I can help it. When I do allow him in the field during police raids or scene sweeps, I catch myself being more concerned about keeping him from harm than doing what I should be doing. Dr. Reid isn’t a liability in the field. I am a liability when he’s in the field with me.”

Torg pondered Hotch’s words as they drove along, merging onto the highway, headed from the airstrip back into the real world of DC-Virginia traffic. Hotch always wondered who all these people were on the highway when he encountered this kind of traffic at such a late hour.

“JJ doesn’t concern you?” he asked. 

“No,” Hotch said.

Torg’s brows rose and fell, and he stared out into the night.

Hotch finally spoke again. “I understand why Strauss assigned you to this duty, Torgeson. She feels I need more muscle in tough situations. You are welcome here, because we can use you. It is true that my team isn’t going to be together forever. But I hope you won’t be one of those agents who dismisses Dr. Reid out of hand because he isn’t physically intimidating, or someone who will cause friction with the female members of my team over your antiquated views of socially-acceptable gender roles.”

Torg gave a faint smile. “May I be frank with, sir?” 

“Please do,” Hotch begged.

“I assure you, sir, I have no problem with Dr. Reid. I don’t have a problem with your female team members either, as long as they understand that a five-foot-six, hundred and ten pound woman is not going to be able to take down a six and a half foot, two- hundred fifty pound male suspect on a psychotic rampage. Maybe that happens in make-believe fantasy realms with super heroes and unicorns and pink fairies, but it doesn’t happen in the real world.”

Hotch blinked at Torg, and Torg continued speaking.

“Unless she’s secretly training with Chow Yun Fat, Agent Jareau needs to pull her powerhouse antics back in check before she gets one of us hurt or killed.”

Hotch smiled a very unpleasant smile, and metaphorically readied himself to bite.

“Don’t mince words, Torg. Tell me how you really feel.”

“I’d be saying that about any agent who kicked me in the face while trying to subdue a suspect twice their size,” Torg clarified.

“It’s been a rough couple of years for JJ. She’s overcompensating. Give her a chance,” Hotch murmured.

“I’ve read your case files for the last couple years. Strauss said it would help me acclimate faster. I know all about Ian Doyle. How is Prentiss holding up? She went through so much more than Jareau went through. She’s handling matters far better than JJ is though.”

“Prentiss hides her hurt better than any of us,” Hotch replied. “It’s hard to tell what she’s going through, because if she doesn’t want to let you in, then she’s not going to let you in.”

“So what’s JJ’s problem? Is she’s going through a career crisis, or a mid-life crisis? Is there trouble at home? Is her husband cheating on her?” Torg asked. “Help me understand why she’s doing what she’s doing.”

“It’s not trouble at home. She and Will have been together for several years, and their relationship is solid. It could be a career crisis, or a mid-life crisis, or a combination of the two.”

“She didn’t like getting transferred to the Defense Department?” Torg asked. “There are people who would kill for that kind of opportunity.”

“The transfer wasn’t her choice, and no, she didn’t like it. Since she’s come back, she’s been a different person,” Hotch lamented quietly. “She’s taken courses to become a full-fledged profiler. She’s also beefed up her combat skills. She’s worried if she doesn’t make herself indispensable, she’ll be out of the Bureau for good.”

“So you think it’s a career crisis?” Torg asked. "I thought it was more of a mid-life crisis, myself. Am I reading her all wrong?"

“Why do you say that?” Hotch wondered.

“Men buy fast cars and date 20-year-old hookers when they hit middle age. Women get nervous about their jobs and their body image. They want to prove they still have what it takes to turn your head. They want you to treat them like a woman and an equal. Sometimes it’s hard to balance the two, or to anticipate which of the two they want at what time.”

“Interesting viewpoint,” Hotch tried not to smile.

“Sir, I do understand. I grew up with two sisters, and a single mother who worked several jobs to support us. I know all about women’s issues. I am not insensitive. Why kick me in the face?”

“You are really defensive on this topic,” Hotch poked with another devil’s advocate smile.

“You’d be defensive too if someone tried to put a four-inch wedge heel through your face. If Jareau really thinks she needs to beat up the suspects to prove herself, the first thing she needs to change her stupid shoes.”

Hotch spun his head to stare at Torg.

"JJ reminds you of your ex-wife, doesn’t she?” Hotch needled.

“Ex-wife?” Torg blanched. He took a deep breath and expelled it in a huff. “No. She reminds me of my sister Patty.”

“You and Patty aren’t close, I take it?”

“No. Patty is an insufferable bitch with a constant chip on her shoulder. She thinks being rude and bossy makes her an empowered woman. All it makes her is unpleasant to be around.”

“You’re the middle child, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Malin is the oldest. I’m second. Patty is the youngest. Since Mom died, Malin has spent a lot of time mediating between me and Patty.”

“What do your sisters do?”

“Malin is a writer. Lives on the Eastern Shore. Patty is a police officer in Tampa Bay, Florida.”

“Middle children are often desperate for attention. They spend their childhoods being ignored, so as adults, they want to be noticed.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m desperate for attention,” Torg defended.

“But you have always felt Patty got more attention from your mother growing up than you did?” Hotch inquired.

“If I had pulled the things that Patty pulled growing up, I’d’ve been shipped off to my father so fast it would have made my head spin. Look, I know where you're going with this. Birth order can sometimes be a defining factor in our personalities, but give me a some credit,” Torg defended. “My birth order has nothing to do with the fact that JJ is headed for a disaster if she’s not careful. Me being a middle child doesn’t negate the fact that she’s your biggest risk factor, not Dr. Reid. Bet you Dr. Reid wouldn’t be trying to take on Noah Neddig any day of the week.”

“I’m only being honest with you,” Hotch replied wickedly.

“If you hadn’t slapped the cuffs on Neddig, he’d’ve choked Jareau to death, exactly like the six women he put in the morgue. That’s what drives me fucking nuts about women in law enforcement. Female officers think the badge and the gun will protect them, but it doesn’t. 9 times out of 10, serial killer offenders are men who have committed violence against women. When female agents or officers go and challenge these bastards, these offenders don’t see the gun. They don’t see the badge. They see a woman first, someone they know they can physically dominate, and if they see an opening, you bet your ass they’re going to take it.”

“Patty’s been hurt on the job before, hasn’t she?” Hotch asked. He wasn't enjoying winding Torg up as much as he thought he would in the beginning.

Torg went quiet. He stared down at his hands, and finally nodded. “Yes. She pulled over an erratic driver. Found out the guy was so high he couldn't see straight. She had him up against the car, and she was cuffing him, when he spun on her, and grabbed her gun from the holster. He shot her in the chest at point-blank range. If her partner hadn’t been three steps away and able to shoot the guy to bring him down, Patty would be dead, all because she constantly has to prove what a badass she is. Her partner should have been the one cuffing the bastard, not Patty.”

“What happened?” Hotch asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“Patty? Is she all right? Has she gone back to work?” 

“You couldn’t keep her off the streets if you tried,” Torg lamented. “It’s going to take more than a bullet to the chest to stop her, and that’s what scares me to death, every day of the week, that I'm going to get that call telling me she's dead in the line of duty because she bit off more than she could chew.”

“I understand. You’re worried about your sister. You’re afraid she’s going to get herself killed. Now you’re transferring that concern to JJ. I can see where you’re coming from, Torgeson, but you’re going to have to work through these feelings. You can’t come into this job and expect JJ to reduce her role in the field because you’re worried she’s going to get hurt. Maybe you and JJ should go have lunch and have a private talk between yourselves. Maybe that would help.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll give it a try.” 

“Good,” Hotch nodded.

“By the way, I don’t have an ex-wife,” Torg offered. 

“But the picture in your box?” Hotch questioned.

“That’s Malin, and my nephew, Simon. I’m not in any serious relationship, haven’t been for a while. Haven’t met the right woman yet. Malin’s divorced, so I spend a lot of time with Simon, take him to baseball games, camping, that sort of thing. You have a son too?”

“Yes. Jack. He’s six, going on seven. I also have a step-daughter who turned twelve in March.”

“Then you know how important it is for children, especially boys, to have a father figure in their life. Being around Simon, it makes me the happiest I've ever been. I love kids. Gonna have twenty of them some day, when I find the right woman.”

“So you’re single, mid-thirties, and you have a terribly sibling rivalry with your sister Patty. You suck at interpersonal relationships because you have difficulty with strong women, but somehow strong women are the only ones you’re attracted to, because they remind you of your mother, whom I suspect Patty takes after,” Hotch decided. "In Vermont, you followed Morgan around like a puppy, desperate for his approval, so that leads me to believe your relationship with your father isn't the best either. How close am I?"

“Pretty close,” Torg agreed reluctantly. 

“Anything else I should know?” Hotch asked.

“I’m about ten seconds from my first cigarette in eight years,” Torg admitted.

“Welcome to the team,” Hotch consoled.


	6. Uber-Suburbia

After dropping Torgeson off, Hotch headed towards home. He lingered for a few moments in the driveway, putting away his phone, collecting his thoughts and his attaché. Bessie, Reid’s very old Volvo station wagon, was parked on the left side, pulled close to the garage but not inside. Hotch had almost rear-ended the antique, but saw it in the nick of time. He had to back out, adjust his SUV, and then pull in again.

Just as Reid had predicted, a light came on in the upstairs bedroom in the house across the street from theirs. Hotch stifled a yawn and a giggle, getting out of the car and locking it with a quick beep. The window curtain across the street swung open, and the light shut off. Hotch climbed the front porch of the new house, and stared at the numbers.

5645

Not exactly the number of the beast, but Hotch had such a feeling of discomfort. He reached up and traced the numbers in the dim beams from the porch light that Reid had left on for him. The black metal was crisp and clean, with no sharp edges. The porch was dressed with two large flower pots decked with autumn mums. He could hear crickets chirping happily in the trimmed bushes that lined the perimeter of the porch. It was welcoming. There was even a mat in front of the door, a shade of dark green which was a nice compliment to the cream house with dark brown shutters.

Three stories with a basement – at least Reid had selected a house with plenty of room inside. The yard wasn’t tiny. As a corner lot, it had more yard than most houses around it. A six-foot cedar fence protected the backyard and lent plenty of privacy. The front yard was open, though it was nice to be able to see the entire front of the street with no occlusions. There was a large oak in the backyard, and a pair of deep pink, ornamental crepe myrtle trees in the front yard. It was nice. It was non-descript. It wasn’t extraordinary. It felt normal. This was the kind of house most people would be proud to own, proud to come home to. So why did Hotch have such a feeling of dread about walking through the front door?

Aaron glanced over his shoulder. The roof of the porch was masking the upstairs of the house across the street, but there was movement at the downstairs window now. Oh my. She was a nosy one, wasn’t she? Hotch reached up and touched the mailbox by the door. He assumed that was where Reid had left him a key. A new, clean, crisp name plate had been inserted into the front. In Spencer’s handwriting, the plate read: “A. Hotchner - J. Hotchner - S. Reid”.

The front door unlocked. The safety chain was undone. A dead bolt gave a strong thump as it was pulled. The door opened a crack, and an eye peered out at Hotch.

“Hi, honey. I’m home,” Hotch whispered.

A soft chuckle emerged from the darkness. It wasn’t Reid. It was Ensign James. He and Hotch had enough time to get a quick nod of acknowledgement in before a streak of black shadow and a glimpse of white raced past them both and fled into the front yard, straight up into the limbs of one of the crepe myrtle trees.

“Oh fuck. Doc’s gonna kill me,” James muttered softly. Hotch set down his attaché beside the door. The ensign stepped outside and slid the door closed.

“Sorry,” Aaron mouthed. Arthur hung his head and pretended to sob for a moment. “Should we chase him or wait for him to come to us?”

“Doc chased Goody all around the neighborhood twice this evening. I don’t think running after Goody is the best approach.”

“Why don’t we open a can of tuna, sit on the porch, and wait for him?” Hotch suggested.

“You go on inside, sir. I’ll get Goody,” the ensign promised. Hotch decided he was very tired, and that he would take the kid up on that offer. Aaron reached for the doorknob. It opened before he got a grip. Reid stepped out on the porch in his rumpled bathrobe. His hair was damp. Had he been in the tub? Spencer crossed his arms over his chest and gave Aaron a pointed, disgruntled look.

“He’s in the tree,” Hotch indicated, wilting under Reid’s annoyed gaze.

Reid walked down off the porch, down the three steps, and headed for the tree in question, walking along the clipped grass with jerky feet movements as the blades tickled his bare soles. He opened his arms and motioned to Goody, making kissy noises and whispering sweetly. Goody glared at Reid with narrowed eyes. Spencer was one inch from picking the cat up, when Goody leapt past him like a flying squirrel and bolted off into the darkness. Reid dropped his arms to his sides, fists balled up, and muttered cursed under his breath as he headed back to the porch.

“Doc, go inside. I’ll find him,” James promised.

Reid reluctantly agreed, and headed back inside the house. Aaron followed, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he hit the front room, his worst fears confirmed. Reid stopped by his side and glanced around as if walking into the house for the first time too.

“I know. I’m so sorry. It is the exact same layout as your last house with Haley,” Spencer winced. He walked slowly up the stairs. “I realized that when we got here, and Jack knew where all the rooms were already. The house was built the same year as your old house, by the same company. I think they constructed every bedroom community in Northern Virginia within driving distance of DC. I’m so sorry. But don’t worry. It’s only temporary,” he promised as he vanished inside what Hotch knew was the upstairs bathroom.

Hotch took off his shoes, set them by the door, and followed Spencer’s path up the stairs. Jack’s bedroom door was open. Hotch's son was sound asleep, looking comfortable. Content. Happy. Hotch’s misgivings were drifting away as he watched Jack breathing in and out, slowly stretching out one small leg to turn over and avoid the light that was shining in his face. Aaron carefully closed Jack’s door for him.

Fingers touched his ribs on both sides. Reid was at his back when he turned around. Hotch tensed then relaxed.

“The first contractor appointment is at nine in the morning,” Reid reminded softly. “We should go to sleep soon.”

“I know. I set the appointments up, remember?” 

“How was the first case with Torg?”

“A complete cluster-fuck. Thank God the Unsub was a disorganized moron, or we’d’ve never caught him.”

Reid bowed his head and hid a small laugh. “It went that well?” he asked.

“You don’t even want to know,” Aaron whispered back.

“Can I borrow your brain for a few minutes? I need someone to bounce some ideas off of,” Reid requested, taking Hotch’s hand and pulling him towards the bathroom again. Why the bathroom, Hotch wondered. There were people who did their best thinking in the shower or on the commode, but Reid had never been one of the them. They stepped inside the white and blue room, and Reid closed the door. Hotch looked down at the floor.

Reid had spread out his copies of Dr. Ramirez’s Cryptology project in several piles. There were twelve stacks, each one numbered and catalogued. Reid had written a two digit number in the corner of each page, and he had written a list of those numbers, and then compiled a list of the literary works that the pages were from. He scooped up his hand-written note and gave it to Hotch.

“Can you tell me what these books have in common?” Reid asked simply.

As Hotch scanned the list, Reid moved towards the large bathtub. He touched the water, shivered, and added more hot water as he watched Hotch reading.

“The Bible. The Qur’an. The Torah. So far, all religious texts.” 

“Go on,” Reid gestured.

“Tao Te Ching. Still religious.” 

“Yes.”

“The Rule of Three?”

“Wiccan. Also religious. The basic premise is that whatever energy you put forth into the world, either positive or negative, will return to you three-fold. The number three is prominent in many religions.”

“So it is, yes."

“Go on,” Reid invited, kneeling by the tub and running his hand through the rising water.

“The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Religious themes. Shakespeare’s Hamlet. A diversion from topic?”

“But is it? The basic question of Hamlet is ‘to be or not to be’. Religious themes guide the entire play. Murder. Incest. Suicide. Love. Duty. Punishment. Death. Atonement. Forgiveness. ‘My words fly up, my thoughts remain below’.”

“The Odyssey. Paradise Lost. Wuthering Heights. Sonnets from the Portuguese. Dr. Zhivago. Harry Potter. Harry Potter?!” Aaron smirked.

“You see where I’m going with this?” 

“No,” Hotch admitted.

“It reads like a syllabus for an undergraduate World Literature course,” Reid smiled.

“It does,” Hotch agreed.

“But beyond that, it’s nothing. It’s a random list of literary works from around the globe. They have nothing in common except their religious themes and their preeminence in their own culture. Save for the last work, which is about as obscure as you will find.”

“The Vasile Letters.” 

“Yes.”

“Never heard of it.” 

“Not surprised.”

“What is the significance of one obscure work among a list of world literary classics?”

“It’s the one title on the list sure to grab your immediate attention, isn’t it?” Reid asked. Hotch lowered the page and watched as Reid dropped his robe to the floor and slipped naked into the tub of water. Spencer disappeared beneath the surface, and sat back up sideways in the large porcelain tub, pushing water out of his face and off his hair.

“Have you read it?” Hotch asked, though admittedly, his mind was no longer on the list.

“I know of it, but I have not read it. There are excerpts of different letters, but there is only one complete copy of every letter. All other editions are partial fragments.”

“So you want to find a complete copy of the Vasile Letters?” Hotch asked. “Why consult me? Why not look it up on Amazon?”

Spencer gave Aaron a long, sweet smile, and leaned on one elbow as he scooted to the near side of the tub. Hotch had a suspicion that Reid was sounding him out, but on what, he couldn’t decide.

“I can’t believe you’re standing there fully clothed,” Reid purred.

Hotch set the page down, and began to disrobe, all the while staring into Reid’s eyes. In this light, they were a honey-amber color, like a lion's.

“If you knew I wouldn’t know what the Vasile Letters were, why bring it up?” Hotch asked, folding his tie and putting it on the edge of the pedestal sink. He took off his suit jacket next.

“There’s a hanger on the back of the door,” Reid replied, still watching him. He waited a few seconds before casually adding, “Hotch, I need to go to Odessa, Russia.”

Hotch dropped the hanger on the floor, and whirled around in surprise. His jacket was making enough wind that the pages all fluttered sideways out of his path. Reid cringed at all the noise.

“No!” Hotch ordered. “Absolutely not! Are you out of your mind?” 

“Shhhh. Keep your voice down. You’ll wake Jack. I have to go to Russia. The only complete copy of the Vasile Letters is in a monastery in Odessa.”

“No,” Hotch breathed.

“Hotch, it’s the only piece of literature I can’t get my hands on here in the States.”

“Send someone else to pick up the book. No. You’re not going to Russia. End of conversation.”

“Hotch, I can’t call up a monastery, and demand that they mail me the single complete copy of a religious work of this magnitude. It’s priceless. It’s one of a kind. I have to go there to read the book, to find out what it means to whoever is sending Dr. Ramirez these coded messages. I don’t think the messages are the message. I think the literature is the message. More to the point, I think this book contains the message that he is desperate to convey.”

“Read my lips. No,” Hotch repeated. “No, no, no, no.” 

Reid gave Hotch an impatient stare.

“All right. I’ll call Korsakova, and see if she can help me,” Spencer decided.

Hotch picked up the hanger, picked up his jacket, and unbuckled his trousers. He hung up his trousers as well, continuing to remove his clothes as he muttered softly to himself.

“If it were me, I’d start in Florida,” Aaron muttered out loud, tossing his tee-shirt towards the hamper and retrieving his tie from the sink in order to drape it on the hanger with his suit.

“Why?” Reid asked.

“The messages are coming from Florida, aren’t they?” Aaron replied.

“Yes. Except for the last one, which came from St. Simon’s Island, Georgia.”

“He’s moving up the coast. I remember.”

“Water. There’s always water where he is. He’s a sailor? He’s a fisherman? He’s been in the Navy?”

Downstairs, they heard the front door open and close. There was scampering on the stairs, the distinct sound of claws racing around on the carpet. Hotch ventured a quick smile. Reid did not.

“But whose Navy? I mean, how many people on this planet would know about an obscure religious text kept in a monastery in Odessa, Russia?” Hotch questioned.

“Anyone who has been to Odessa, who enjoys history, who has questions about the existential concerns that religions address, or who has a keen interest in beautifully-illuminated medieval manuscripts.”

“So, there’s like five of you, hmm?” Hotch teased, sliding out of his boxers. Reid was smiling again, eyes going up and down Aaron’s body. “Are you warm? I’m warm. Mind if I open a window?” Aaron asked.

Without waiting for a response, Hotch parted the curtains and pushed open the pane of the chest-high window above the commode, letting air breeze through the room. Reid’s neat piles of notes were thrown into chaos once more. Aaron gathered them up and stacked them in one folder on the back of the commode.  
Then he finally walked over to the tub. “Room for one more in there?” he asked.

Spencer reached up and pulled Aaron towards himself as he raised up on his knees. Hotch bent closer, and Reid nosed a kiss to Hotch’s lips, not prepared when Aaron tugged him forcefully upwards, wrapping both arms around him. Hotch slid into the tub, kissing and groping Reid. Spencer purred happily, whispering encouragements. Aaron sat up against the back of the tub, and Reid climbed into his lap.

The bathroom door banged back against the wall without warning. They both flailed wildly at the intrusion. A black and white fury flew through the room, up onto the commode, and out the open window.

"Son of a bitch," Reid whined.

Before Hotch could protest or get a grip on him, Spencer was out of the tub, pulling on his robe, heading down the stairs. Hotch climbed out too, and gathered up Reid's scattered notes.


	7. Pumpkin

“So where do we want to begin?” Hotch asked, working up a friendly smile for the man who was standing in the middle of the remains of their kitchen. Being a profiler came with certain understandable character flaws, not the least of which was being unable to stop yourself from profiling the daylights out of anyone you might be doing business with. Aaron was not impressed with this guy. Hotch kept telling himself to keep an open mind. Morgan knew the contractor, knew he would do a good job, knew he was reliable and dependable, and Morgan’s opinion went pretty damned far with Hotch.

“Cooking fire, huh?” the man asked. 

“Yep,” Hotch said grimly.

The contractor walked around, his feet crunching, gently nudging his way past the hulks of metal in the middle of the room. Hotch pointed up, and the contractor lifted the bill of his hat out of his way to look that direction. 

“Two stories to fix? Damage upstairs to the other rooms?”

“A couple of the bedrooms have water damage.” 

“Smells good for a fire.”

“We had some people in to take care of the smoke and water damage in the rest of the house. Aired things out.”

“So you’re looking at the kitchen, the laundry room, and adjoining walls in the bedrooms?”

“Yes,” Hotch nodded.

“We’d need to get the exteriors and rough-ins and basic structures completed before chilly weather sets in. Can do the interiors after that. What’s he doing out there?” the contractor paused and turned to watch Reid, who was picking a wood chip off of the pirate ship playset.

“Hoping to match paint, I suspect,” Hotch replied. The ship playset looked like it had been in quite the sea battle.

“We’ll need to do some adjoining walls down here too,” the contractor pointed out, indicating the dining room. Hotch nodded. “Was there a bathroom back here? Do you want to keep that in the plans, or take it out and make the kitchen bigger?”

“Please keep the bathroom in the plans,” Hotch replied.

Reid disappeared inside the pirate ship and then popped out through the top, perching with his legs folded underneath him. Reid was staring at the house, at the upstairs floors to be more precise, and his eyes were wide. Something had definitely caught his attention. He folded his open mouth closed once more, and hurried towards the house.

“Can I do some looking around and get back to you with an estimate in a week?” the contractor asked.

“That’d be fine,” Hotch agreed, giving him a name card. The contractor put his hat back on and stepped out of the ruined kitchen, walking back and forth and around to inspect the damage and assess the situation.

Hotch stared around once more, giving a forlorn sigh. He stopped where he was. A little girl with long brown hair was standing in the shadowy corner of the dining room. Hotch took a tentative step towards her, holding out one hand.

“Honey? What are you doing there? How did you get in the house?” he asked. She stepped silently into the light, where he could finally see that she was wearing a long, knee-length white dress, white tights, and small, black boots that buckled on the side. The child stared at Hotch as she slowly became transparent, starting with her black boots. She was vanishing from the ground up. Hotch caught his breath and chills raced down his spine.

“Becky? Is that you?”

Hotch turned around at the sound of Reid’s voice. Spencer was at the edge of the ruined kitchen. His shoes crunched as he walked carefully through the debris. The contractor peered in around Reid, and his eyes leapt open.

“You never said the house was haunted!” he exclaimed. Becky disappeared in a flash.

The contractor couldn’t run back to his truck fast enough. He sped out of the driveway like he was being chased. Hotch took a deep breath and shook his head. Reid giggled softly, and stared earnestly into the empty dining room.

“She was peeking out of the upstairs window. I didn’t think she’d come downstairs,” Reid whispered.

“Clearly she’s very curious what’s going on,” Hotch replied.

“I’ll go talk to her, if she’ll come out again. You keep an eye out for the next contractor,” Reid suggested.

It was ten minutes before the next contractor arrived at the house. Reid had been upstairs for quite some time, maybe in Jack’s room? Hotch could hear him quietly talking, moving around, but he couldn’t make out the words Spencer was saying.

The second contractor asked the very same questions that the first one had: cooking fire? keeping the bathroom? doing the adjoining walls in adjoining rooms? need to get started before chilly weather? They ended the conversation with a very polite agreement to have an estimate ready in a week. Reid was coming back downstairs by that point. He walked to the edge of the ruined kitchen, and Hotch reached up, helping him climb down the foot drop from the dining room floor to the ruined kitchen floor. The floor had fallen through to reveal a crawlspace beneath.

“Thanks,” Reid whispered. He had a soot smear on one cheek. “We need to pick up a few things before we get Jack from Jessica’s. Everything okay here?”

“We’ll have an estimate in a week,” Hotch explained.

The contractor was staring at them. Hotch wondered if it was because he had helped Reid down, or because of how close to his side Reid was lingering. 

“I thought I heard voices upstairs,” the guy said finally.

“Chipmunks,” Reid lied blandly.

“Call you in a week,” the contractor replied, giving Reid a suspicious glance as he made his way back to his truck.

“Did you see Becky? What did you say to her?” Hotch asked Reid while watching the contractor return to his truck, climb inside, start the engine, and back out of the driveway.

“I didn’t see her. But I promised we were fixing the house, and we’d be back home by Thanksgiving. Not to worry.”

“Any sign of Violet?”

“Nope,” Reid answered, staring unconsciously up at the domed ceiling light Hotch had installed to replace the swinging chandelier in the dining room.

“Good,” Hotch said, tugging Reid out of the kitchen and into the backyard, drawing the heavy blue tarps back into place. “Let’s go check out some appliances.”

“I think we should go with an electric range,” Reid said. 

“Gas is more efficient.”

“Only if it comes with child safety locks on the burners.”

“Touché,” Hotch whispered. “We need to look at a double-door fridge.”

“Do we need one that large?” Reid wondered. 

“We also need to look at washers and dryers.”

“You like this sort of thing, don’t you?” Reid asked as Hotch hustled him into the passenger seat of the SUV. “Look at you. All excited and giddy, smiling like that. Who are you, and where is Aaron Hotchner?”

“Watch your feet, pumpkin,” Aaron warned, closing the door. Hotch hurried around to get into the driver’s seat.


	8. Brunch

“He called you what?” Prentiss asked, sipping at her tumbler of tomato juice.

“ ‘Pumpkin’,” Reid complained, poking his omelet and digging out another bite of green pepper.

“Oh God,” Emily tittered, highly amused. 

“It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?” 

“What’s going to get worse?”

“He doesn’t see me as an equal when I’m not working with him. He sees me, for lack of a better term, as his other half.”

“Reid, you are his other half,” Prentiss pointed out.

“There’s no need to be insulting,” Spencer pouted. “Why isn’t he my other half?”

“Sweetheart, halves. Halves. There are two of you. Each one of you is the other person’s other half.”

“He is not allowed to call me demeaning names. I do not approve. He knows that.”

“What is it? What’s really bothering you?”

“I took all our clothes to the dry cleaners to see if Mr. Wu could get the smoke smell out of them,” Reid said, sipping his tomato juice and waiting a beat or two. Prentiss waited too. What wasn’t he saying? “There were bags and bags of clothes. There were clothes in there I didn’t even know we had in the house.”

“How much is that going to cost?”

“Thousands,” Reid winced. "It was the pictures that got to me though.”

“Pictures?” Emily wondered.

“I found several boxes of Hotch and Haley’s old pictures from when they were younger. Hotch had them squirreled away in one of the back guest rooms. There were books and pictures, but the pictures worried me the most. He didn’t even have them in binders. Just tossed in these ratty boxes. I don't know if they can be saved. I asked Garcia what to do. She said to give them to her. She would get them digitized and restored.”

“Wish Garcia was here this morning. She would have something witty to say about all this,” Prentiss said, looking wistful for a long moment. Spencer stared at her quietly.

“You’re going to take the Interpol job, aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Reid!? No profiling!” she exclaimed.

“We’ve been here thirty-seven minutes, and you haven’t mentioned it once. The fact you don’t want to talk about it means your mind is already made up. Hard to ignore the obvious."

“You haven’t said anything to Hotch, have you?” she cringed. 

“No. He’s heard rumors, like we all have, but he hasn’t asked me about them. You’ve decided, but you haven’t given notice yet. Are you having misgivings? Or are you worried we’ll all be hurt and upset with you, and want to keep you here for selfish reasons?”

“Yes,” Prentiss smiled sadly. 

“When did you decide to accept?”

“At JJ and Will’s wedding. Oh God - JJ,” Emily sighed. “I’m so worried about her.”

“I’ll watch out for her,” Reid promised. 

“I’m worried about Morgan too.”

“He’ll be happy for you. We'll all be happy for you. We’ll miss you, but what we want is for you to be happy, and if you’re not happy here, then you need to find where you will be happy.”

Prentiss reached over and pulled Reid into a brief hug, but he batted her gently away after a couple seconds.

“Don’t let Mimi catch you hugging me. She thinks I’m married to Spaulding,” Spencer whispered.

“How do you like Cryptology? Are they as weird as I’ve heard?” Prentiss asked, changing the subject. She was never comfortable talking about herself.

“I won’t meet everyone officially until tomorrow morning. How weird have you heard they are?” Reid worried.

“Well, Rabovsky goes through administrative assistants like other people go through a box of tissues, so that’s never a good sign.”

“Is she mean to them?”

“No. But she’s very demanding. Her last assistant quit in August. They got a new one the first week of September, but they’ve requested another new one already. I heard Strauss bitching about it in the elevator. Davies? I think her first name is…”

“April? Yes, I know Davies.”

“You know her? Or you know her?” Prentiss pressed.

“I predict Davies would be a good fit for any department. She’s very bright and she’s…. why are you looking at me like that? I know Davies. I often encounter her in the library and in the archives. We have struck up conversations on many occasions. I was under the impression she was an archivist, not an administrative assistant.”

“Does Hotch know you know her?” Emily smiled.

“It’s not at all what you’re insinuating,” Reid frowned. Prentiss grinned, and took another gulp of her tomato juice. “What else have you heard about Cryptology?” Spencer asked.

“Ramirez is a hyper control freak. Rockford wants Rabovsky’s job, and he’s not going to like you, because he’ll see you as competition. Jung is nice, but I doubt she’s coming back. Her husband wants her to stay home with the kids. Can you imagine?”

“Imagine what?”

“In this day and age, I can’t believe any husband would have the temerity to ask his wife to give up her job and stay home with their children. How would he feel if the situation was reversed? If she asked him to quit his job and take care of his own children? What did he say? ‘I’m sorry, honey. I know you’re the only Asian specialist that Cryptology has, but I want you to stay home and mind our brood’.”

“Maybe that’s how Hotch sees me,” Reid joked awkwardly. 

“Then there’s Larsson.”

“What about Larsson? She’s always been friendly when I’ve encountered her in the Quad.”

“She's very very out, and doesn't care what anyone thinks about it. She and current admin have butted heads over it. Maybe that's why they've asked for Davies. Larsson and her domestic partner are expecting too.”

Reid processed the thought in a blink and asked, “Which one of them?”

“The partner, not Larsson.” 

“Have you met her partner?”

“Purely by chance. I ran into them in DC one time. Her partner works at the Smithsonian.”

“Is she a docent?”

“She has an office job – I don’t know what kind. But she was dressed business-serious, very nicely-tailored skirt and jacket, heels, adorable, gorgeous. She had an official smart-badge clipped to her lapel. I bumped into them by chance when I was crossing Constitution, near the Canadian embassy.”

“Sorry I’m late! Did I miss anything? You started without me?” JJ frowned as she appeared at the side of the booth. Prentiss scooted over and JJ planted herself on the seat.

“We were starving,” Emily replied, waving a hand at the waitress Mimi to catch her attention. The diner was bustling busy because it was Sunday morning.

“I'm sorry. Henry was having a tantrum about his clothes, and as usual, Will couldn’t get him to do anything,” JJ babbled. “Why do I always have to be the heavy? Isn’t Garcia coming?” she asked, glancing around again.

“Haven't heard from her yet. What happened to you?” Reid worried, touching his own cheek as he stared at JJ’s bruised nose.

“Oh. That. Nothing,” she shrugged.

“Did Will hit you?” Reid bristled up like an angry tomcat.

“No, Torg hit me,” JJ replied. Prentiss put a hand on Reid’s arm.

“It was an accident. JJ kicked Torg in the face trying to take down our suspect in Vermont. Torg flailed in surprise and accidently boinked her on the nose. He didn’t mean to do it. Relax. Relax,” Prentiss urged. Reid went red, then white, then slowly faded back to a tinge of pink.

“That’s so cute, Spence. You being protective of me,” JJ smiled. “Hey, where are you going?” she asked Reid, who was fishing money out of his pockets and taking one last drink of juice.

“It's almost noon. I’m headed over to the bookstore to see Bubbles. Besides, you two need a chance to talk alone,” Spencer whispered meaningful at Emily, who kicked him in the shins under the table. Reid rubbed his lower leg and limped out of the booth and quickly away.

“Why do we need a chance to talk alone?” JJ asked Prentiss. Emily sank down in her place and looked desperate for a moment. She took a deep breath.

“Damn you, Reid. I wasn't ready to tell anyone yet. But I guess now is as good a time as any. JJ, don't be upset. I’m moving to London, taking the Interpol job. Tell me you’re happy for me. Tell me I’m making the right decision," Emily blurted.

JJ blinked at Prentiss, and turned to watch Reid trip out the front door of the diner, making the beeper go off twice because his satchel strap got caught in the door handle, and he had to open and close and open the door to get it loose again. Once Reid was done making a spectacle of himself, JJ turned back to Prentiss, and her entire frame drooped as her smile faded away.

“You just got back. You can't leave me again," JJ mourned.


	9. Fancy Meeting You Here

“So you recognized the excerpt that I sent, didn’t you?” Reid asked. He smiled his thanks to Bubbles as she waved to them. Bubbles closed the short, thin door, and the exit from the room disappeared behind more shelves of books.

“Not so fast. First, you have to tell me what happened to your house.”

“Cooking accident,” Reid replied crisply.

Yulia Korsakova chuckled mirthfully, picking up her teacup and taking a thoughtful sip.

“Oh, Spencer. You lie about as well as ever. How long are repairs going to take?”

“We should be back home by Christmas. Maybe even by Thanksgiving. Why don’t you and Mouse and Max fly out for Thanksgiving? I would love to cook for you.”

“If your daughter had any idea I was in DC now without bringing her, the fireworks? You would not believe,” Korsakova shook her head, carefully putting the cup back down. She glanced around the miniature room at the bookstore, where wall-to-ceiling, packed shelves concealed their nook from on-lookers. It was the perfect place to have a private conversation. In a past life, this small bookstore had been a private residence. The smell of ancient tea and old books lingered in this small back room. Korsakova wondered if it had been a downstairs bedroom, a sitting room, or a parlor.

“Promise me you’ll fly out for Thanksgiving,” Reid pleaded. 

“Won’t you be visiting your mother?”

“No,” Reid answered, looking away. “Dohstob zjapreetshun.” (access denied)

“Sorry,” Yulia replied, examining the copy of the page in her hands. “Down to business then. Can you tell me what are you doing with a passage from the Epistles of Vasile?”

“Work related?” Reid offered.

Korsakova laughed softly, her amusement lighting up her features.

“Very well. As you must know, Vasile was a medieval spiritual leader from Odessa. His early life remains mostly legend and mystery, shrouded in tales. Some say he was a soldier, others say a spy. He was a wandering soul looking for acceptance and absolution. The factual knowledge of his existence starts in Jerusalem.”

“Go on,” Reid murmured as he began to take notes on the small notebook he had laid out on the small round table between them. “How do you know about these epistles?”

“Darling, do you know how many days I spent at Saint Cyril's Monastery, hiding from my first husband? I lived in Odessa for almost two years. Saint Cyril's Monastery was my escape. I spent hours staring at these very illuminations, translating the documents into several different languages. I marveled at the words, the beauty of those elegant pen strokes, knowing a human hand had made these markings almost seven hundred years before. It makes my heart beat fast with horror to think that someone touched that manuscript, that they placed such a revered tome, facedown on a Xerox machine,” she frowned, clearly disapproving. “Do you know what kind of damage that does to the hand-wrought bindings?”

“I would imagine they don’t let just anyone who walks through the doors pick up and handle that such a rare tome?”

“Certainly not. I had to use gloves, sit in a special room with lights that wouldn't harm the manuscript. The first time they let me hold it, I couldn't stop crying. I was so honored. It's such a beautiful book.”

“Tell me more about the holy man. Why was he in Jerusalem?” 

“He went there looking for atonement.”

“For what did he need to atone?” Reid asked. 

“It’s only legend, my dear.”

“In every legend, there is a kernel of fact,” Reid urged.

“He killed his wife when he caught her in bed with another man, and then he drowned every last one of his children, all five of them, because he wanted to wash them free of their mother’s sins.”

“Oh,” Reid said sadly. “Was he insane?”

“He was banished from Odessa, and journeyed to Jerusalem. He was on a hill above the city when he heard the Voice of God, who told him that only by spending the remainder of his days in acts of devotion and charity would he achieve forgiveness.”

“Mm hmm. He heard voices. Hallucinations? Schizophrenia?”

“He was in his twenties at the time. He died in his nineties. Seventy years of atonement.”

“Do you think he ever found forgiveness?”

“I hope so. He walked from one end of the known world to the other, teaching love and forgiveness, caring for people in need, spreading the faith by his actions instead of by fiery sword.”

“He walked?”

“He always walked in bare feet as penance. He never wore shoes. He never rode a horse, or mule, or beast. He never rode in a vehicle of any sort. He wanted his every step to be a punishment.”

“Except perhaps a ship?” Reid perked up. "There's a connection to water with the source."

“Yes. He made concessions as far as ships were concerned. It was necessary. He went around the Mediterranean several times.”

“He corresponded with home to tell of his progress?” Reid asked hopefully.

“He sent many letters home to his brother Oleg, who reported on his progress to the rest of their village. As the years went on, Vasile achieved in his absence what he never would have achieved by his presence – the respect and reverence of the people who had once reviled him. He was much beloved by his followers. They raised a church in his honor, but when that was sacked and burned several times over the years, it was decided to move his letters and the only complete copy of the letters to Saint Cyril's Monastery, which was further away from the main metropolis and very-well protected.”

“Did Vasile ever return home?”

“No. He died in Verona, Italy, sometime after his final letter, which he dictated in April of 1340 to a young acolyte. That boy then carried the final letter all the way back to Odessa. He stayed and became one of the priests under Vasile’s brother Oleg. Together they looked after the epistles, guarded them like gold. A well- travelled belief around the monastery was that Vasile chose that acolyte because the boy was his natural son, and portraits of that boy as an adult do bear a striking resemblance to Oleg. But I digress," she whispered.

“What was Vasile doing in Verona?”

“Caring for the sick, feeding the poor, shepherding the unloved – what he did everywhere he went.”

“How very sad, your tale,” Reid said thoughtfully. "Where are the actual letters kept?"

“The letters are in a vault. The manuscript at Saint Cyril's Monastery is the only complete copy of all the letters. There are copies of various letters translated here and there. If one were interested and had time on their hands, and money to burn, they could find them. But the one and only complete copy, as I said, is the manuscript at the monastery."

"And this page, it's from that singular manuscript?"

"Without a doubt. And it is an interesting choice of excerpts." 

"In what way?"

"Vasile wrote this letter when he was in Padua at the request of a convent there. They had begged for his help in driving out the evil spirits which had possessed their mother-abbess. The nuns were worried if word got out about the radical changes this beloved abbess was making, that she would be burned at the stake as a witch and a heretic."

"Go on," Reid begged. "What was she doing?"

"She was teaching all her nuns how to read and write, which made perfect sense, considering that her convent was in charge of a vast library. Vasile lamented that the collection was in complete disarray because the majority of her nuns could not read or write. They were gathering the books by shape and size and color, not topic or author. Can you imagine?"

"The majority of the general population could not read or write at that time."

"But if you're going to be in charge of a library, I can understand why the abbess felt her nuns should be learnéd women and not mere cattle. Fact was, the abbess had charged that the father-abbot who was appointing her nuns was sending her the most ignorant savages he could find, because he was afraid to put too many intelligent women in one place at one time. There was obstinate dissention among members of the convent. Some were unwilling to be taught. Some felt that it was blasphemy to teach women at all. They were quite proud of their ignorance, felt that to be without guile and deep thought was to show proper humility before the Lord."

"Where did Vasile stand on this matter?" Reid asked, thinking how horrified his mother would be at that thought.

"Vasile was very clear. His response was strongly-worded: 'My duty is to protect this mother-abbess and not condemn her, for I know it is her ardent love of the Lord which drives her to do this. She is not possessed of evil spirits.' He chose to support the mother-abbess's decision. He agreed that it would be both prudent and wise that a library should be tended by those who could read and write. Vasile helped the mother-abbess by sending tutors and monks to her convent to teach her nuns to read, those who wished to learn. Those who did not wish to learn, he found homes for them in other convents, where they could happily spend the rest of their days in proper, humble ignorance. Vasile and the mother-abbess became very good friends. When the mother-abbess died ten years later, Vasile secretly brought her body to Verona. He interred her in the plot he had bought for his own burial, because he said he couldn't bear the idea of not having her near. He wanted her close, so they might continue to converse."

Reid stared at Korsakova, and pondered her words, then offered, "You believe Vasile fell in love with the mother-abbess?"

"I hoped he had. But then, I was young and foolish, all of twenty when I first heard the tale. Perhaps I was reading into the text what my own heart desired to see," she conceded.

"Why is this letter significant?" Reid asked.

"I believe the reason this letter is not more widely-translated is because of the topic and how the Church feels about educating anyone, let alone educating women. It doesn't do for one of their spiritual leaders to be advocating that which the Church strongly opposes. Also, it's one of the few letters concerning the treatment of women, a topic that filled Vasile with profound remorse. He came to believe in his later years that his wife had betrayed him because he was too harsh with her, that he had treated her poorly. He feared she had retaliated against his cruelty by giving away her body, because that's all she had been to him - a body. A vessel to carry his children, to cook his meals, to serve his needs. He lamented that if he had treated her as a person, if he had loved her soul more than her body, if he had cherished her more completely, she would never have betrayed him. Do you know how astonishing that sort of insight is for a man of his time?"

"I have some idea," Reid smiled. “Why would Vasile write his letters in this language?”

“Old Church Slavonic was the most widely-used liturgical language in Odessa during Vasile's lifetime. While Vasile was clearly fluent in Latin, Greek, several European Romance languages, and any number of closely-related Slavic languages, perhaps his brother Oleg was most familiar with this language."

“Who would use Old Church Slavonic today?”

“I doubt it would be spoken, but written more likely, no doubt by someone with ties to the east of the Mediterranean, up into Bulgaria, Turkey, and Russia, of course. They might have had church instruction, or they might simply study languages as a hobby.”

“Someone intelligent. Someone who has a connection to the church. Educated by the church? Raised by a person who had had religious instruction, someone who taught them the language?"

“Spencer, you can’t dangle a puzzle like this in front of me and expect me not to ask questions,” Yulia pouted. “You have piqued my curiosity. Out with it. How is this related to chasing serial killers?”

“It’s actually not,” Reid admitted.

“Are you moonlighting as a translator of obscure, medieval, religious texts?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Is it one of those things you can tell me, but you’ll have to kill me?” she chuckled.

“Yes,” Reid nodded.

“Understood,” Korsakova sighed. “I have those kinds of secrets too. But now I am even more curious.”

“About what?”

“About why Khotchner is letting you do these things?” 

“He didn’t have a choice, and he’s not happy.”

“Oh. That’s not good. He’s not a pleasant man when he’s not happy.”

“No, he’s not.”

Korsakova handed the page back to Reid, and took another sip of tea.

“I have not yet said thank you for being so patient about Mouse’s time this summer. She told me you called her from Las Vegas on Monday, that you have called her every week, in fact, and that you are learning email to please her. That is so nice, darling. I’m proud of you.”

“Mouse was very down when we spoke. How is she?” 

“She is still very much in mourning.”

“I don’t understand why she’s upset,” Reid said, a hint of a smile on his face. “Doesn’t this kind of thing happen all the time in professional sports?”

“Well, it might not seem serious to you or me, but to her, having her favorite hockey player moving to a different team? Try to remember, she's twelve. She’s watched Mr. Semin play in DC for many years, and she’s very attached to him. This is most serious. She is threatening to change allegiances, to burn all her Capitals jerseys except that of Mr. Semin.”

“Would she go that far?”

“I hope not. Those nasty jerseys are dreadfully expensive. So you were in Las Vegas to visit your mother? How is she?” Yulia asked. Reid found it easy to forget sometimes what a skillful interrogator Korsakova was. When she wanted to know something, she could get you to talk, little by little.

“Not well,” Reid sighed. “Her condition is deteriorating.” 

“Her health?”

“Her mind.” 

“I am sorry.”

“Me too. How is your mother?”

“Oh, her. She’s the same bitter, cranky babushka she’s been for seventy years. You should have heard her howling when I told her that Mouse wasn’t going to come visit her this summer. I told her there was no time, between hockey camp, and music camp, and advanced maths camp. I only got to spend a week with my daughter myself. We didn’t even get a chance to do our usual spa retreat. I missed her terribly all the time she was away. The house is too quiet without her.”

“Back up. Music camp? I didn’t know Mouse was musical.”

“Darling, she’s not. I was hoping to encourage her to develop an appreciation for real music, as opposed to the illicit, juvenile nonsense that she listens to now. So I enrolled her in beginner’s music camp. They let her pick an instrument, and the lessons have begun. She enjoyed it tremendously, so much so that the lessons will carry over into the school year. Perhaps she will start to appreciate something besides trashy, slutty thirty-year-olds singing to impressionable tween girls about how fun it is to party and drink and have one night stands with strangers. Wait. Oh no. Oh God. Did I just sound like my mother?”

“Having never heard your mother….” Reid left the sentence unfinished.

“Tell me it’s the right thing, encouraging Mouse to open her horizons with other types of music,” Korsakova murmured.

“It is never wrong to encourage her to learn. Who is to say she won’t grow to love music? At any rate, it will take her mind off of her upset feelings over Mr. Semin. What instrument did she choose?” he asked.

“The violin,” Korsakova rumbled, covering one ear with one hand. “In the evenings, she is in her room, practicing scales and small pieces. It’s sheer agony, but we will endure. I know she will improve with practice.”

“At least she didn’t choose the drums,” Reid offered. “She never even mentioned on the phone that she was taking music lessons.”

“I suspect she hopes to surprise you with a private recital. If she does, you will enjoy every moment of it, and praise her highly for her efforts,” Yulia said, her eyes narrowing dangerously for a brief second. Reid got the message. He gave a slow grin.

“I guess I will then,” he answered.

“Good,” Yulia approved. “Where is your Khotchner this morning? He is letting you roam alone?”

“You know very well I am never entirely alone,” he replied. Korsakova tittered, patting his hand.

“I know, dear. I saw the grumpy Swede. He was doing such a good job concealing himself until we came in here. I’m afraid it’s hard to hide a physique like his behind these thin shelves. And he’s standing in the juvenile fiction section. Where did you say Aaron is?”

“Hotch is taking Jack shopping for clothes, and then to have lunch with his grandparents.”

“You did not wish to go? Have you met his grandparents? These are the dead wife’s parents, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You have not met them yet? Do they not approve of you, or do they not approve of your boy-on-boy relationship with their son-in-law?”

“In theory, they approve of me, but I think they think they have no choice but to voice approval, because they love Jack and they like Hotch, and they don’t want to risk Hotch denying them access to Jack over disapproval of me and/or our unconventional relationship. I think if we’re good where we are, at this amiable distance, why risk having them dislike me if they meet me in person and I make a bad impression?”

“You’re nervous they won’t like you? Oh, Spencer. How could they not like you?” she tutted in a motherly tone.

“Very easily. Most people find me quite disagreeable. I don’t want to risk it. Our dinner with Mrs. Hotchner did not go well at all. She hasn’t spoken to Hotch since, and neither has Sean. I don’t want to be the reason that Hotch’s entire extended family stops speaking to him.”

“Very well. I will not press the issue, except to say I am of the opinion that you should meet these grandparents. While I am at it, when you see Aaron again, tell him I have had a talk with Mouse, about not playing the tug of war with you and me. We are on the same page, he and I. That will make him happy. But I must say goodbye for now, my dear. I hate to rush, but I have a plane to catch if I hope to be back home before dinner.”

“Bolshoi specibo,” Reid gushed, standing up and hugging Korsakova tight. She collected her bag and hugged him again. (Thank you very much)

“Pajzhohlista, drugu moi,” Yulia said, and then she was gone around the corner of the book shelves. (You’re welcome, my friend)


	10. Welcome to Cryptology

“We don’t want him, and we don’t need him, and we sure as hell don’t need his little trained minion either,” John Rockford boomed from down the hall. There were several closed doors between here and there, but the entire conversation going on in Rabovsky’s office was audible throughout the square maze of rooms that made up the Cryptology Department.

“I don’t want to burst your delusions, Rock, but there is no ‘we’. I am your supervisory agent, and this was my decision,” Rabovsky replied.

“What about Jung?” another voice asked.

“Ramirez, we have to face facts. She’s not coming back. It’s time to move on,” Bernie soothed.

“But why HIM?” Rockford growled.

Pam Larsson took another bite of banana, and gave Reid an apologetic glance. Her eyes passed back and forth between Davies and Dr. Reid. Larsson’s blue eyes landed back on her unfinished lunch. Rabovsky had bustled them into the lunchroom for a quick meal together, a tradition of hers which she hoped would help to lend a family environment to the group. It didn’t always work, clearly. When the shouting had started, she had had to retreat to her office with Rockford and Ramirez.

Reid finished his PBJ, and nibbled on a baby carrot from the accompanying baggy of veggies. Jack had packed Reid’s lunch for him today. He had thoughtfully included a baggy full of Legos, in case Spencer got bored during lunch. Jack had even drawn dinosaurs on the brown paper bag. They were chasing cars down a jungle path. One dinosaur had captured a car, and while tiny stick figure people were fleeing the scene, the giant lizard was eating the car tires.

“He’s quite the artist, your son,” Larsson said, turning his bag around and studying it. Reid's heart skipped a beat with joy, the way she said that.

Davies examined the bag and smiled too. “At the dinosaur stage? Five? Six?” she asked, closing her Tupperware and tossing the plastic fork into the recycling bin. She had had leftover spaghetti but was still hungry. Reid was nudging the baggy of veggie sticks closer to her, but she was not at all interested.

Reid nodded, still chewing. He tried to remain calm as there were more shouts coming from Rabovsky’s office.

“How much access is he going to have to our projects?”

“Dr. Reid will share the same access that you all have,” Rabovsky answered.

“I don’t want him rooting through my projects without my knowledge or my permission.”

“Ramirez, we are not getting into this again,” Rabovsky replied. 

“He’s got an eidetic memory. Do you know what that means?” Ramirez called out.

“He’ll know everything about us, our projects, our lives, inside a week. He’s Internal Affairs, isn’t he? Oh, sure, he worked in BAU, but that was only a cover. He’s actually been working for Internal Affairs for years. I know it. Everyone knows it," Rockford answered.

“OH MY GOD! I KNEW IT! HE’S HERE TO SPY ON US!”

"Everyone knows he's in bed with the Russians," Rockford accused.

“Would you two at least try to act like adults and not spoiled two- year olds?” Rabovsky raised her voice again.

Larsson rolled her eyes and shook her head. She pushed her unfinished chicken sandwich back into her lunch bag, and stood to toss it into the immaculate fridge in the corner of the small but cheery lunchroom. There were clear bins on the fridge shelves, labeled with everyone’s names. Reid already had his own bin, and so did Davies.

“Come on, Doc. I’ll give you a tour. Bring your minion,” Pam said, giving Davies a friendly wink.

“I’m not his minion,” Davies defended as she and Reid both blushed.

“Actually, you are. Bernie requested you specifically to work with Dr. Reid. To handle his calls and emails. To make sure things run smoothly for him in the office. She wants you to concentrate on organizing the day-to-day minutia so Dr. Reid can concentrate on his work.”

“I’m an archivist, not an administrative assistant. Why not hire a secretary for Dr. Reid?” Davies asked.

“Rabovsky requested you specifically, Davies, so she must have a good reason to want you here to work with Dr. Reid,” Larsson said, whirling again to Reid. “Do you prefer ‘Spencer’? ‘Reid’? ‘Doc’? ‘Dr. Reid’? There was a time when we were all calling each other ‘Doctor’. We’re all doctors here, except you, minion,” she teased Davies. “That was under the previous regime with Dr. Hamilton. Bernie put the kibosh on that. Said it sounded like a paging system at the hospital. She prefers a relaxed, comfortable working environment. So? Spencer or Reid?”

“Reid. And you will not call Davies my minion, thank you.”

“Okay. My apologies,” Larsson smiled more broadly. “Sorry, kid. April, or Davies?”

“Davies,” the young agent replied sourly.

“Reid, why was that kid in the elevator this morning calling you ‘Doc’?” Larsson asked.

“Ensign James? I guess because he doesn’t know what else to call me,” Reid replied.

“He’s one of your CIA surveillance crew? Bernie said we’re not supposed to notice them.”

“Not technically CIA, but yes, he is part of that team. It does help if you don’t make a fuss about their presence. I’m not supposed to talk about their presence, actually.”

“Okay. I’ll pretend they’re your imaginary friends,” Pam said, ushering Reid and Davies around the corner and out the office back exit.

She immediately walked them in through the front entrance of the offices. The entrance and exit doors were side by side in the hallway. They opened into a vestibule that was divided by a glass partition. Upon entering, one could only go in and forward, just as at the exit, one could only go out. A pair of cushioned, straight-back chairs and a big potted plant dominated the entrance nook, along with a sparse desk and severe, utilitarian chair.

“Andy left us in August. Hilda is not big on decorating. She took down all of Andy’s improvements out here in the vestibule,” Larsson chided, eyeing the Spartan space with a shudder of disapproval.

Larsson walked Reid and Davies to the hallway of offices which were aligned in a square, with an outer rim and an inner rim. Cryptology was at the top of one of the back columns of the biggest building on the Quad. It was essentially a tiny garret. The view from the outside windows was nice though. The forests around the complex were beginning to change to autumn colors.

“Bernie’s office is first. She prefers it that way. She likes to know who is coming and going, and she wants to be accessible to visitors.”

Everyone in Rabovsky’s office stared at Larsson, Reid, and Davies as they went past the large glass window that faced the hallway. The blinds were open. John Rockford was glaring. Ramon Ramirez was frowning. Bernie looked embarrassed and frustrated.

Rockford was tall, broad, and foreboding – brown hair, brown eyes, with All-American Football shoulders and a physique to match. He looked like an FBI agent from the 50’s in his crisp suit and tie and wingtips. He might have reminded Reid of Hotch except that Hotch had a human quality which Rockford did not share.

Ramirez was a thin man with gray and black hair, light brown eyes, medium height, slight build. He wore a nice but not expensive suit, and a tie that was knotted off to an angle. There was something unsettled and unsettling about Ramon. Reid couldn’t decide what it was though.

“Rock’s domain is over here,” Larsson pointed to the next office. The door was closed tight, and a light was blinking on the electronic lock. The big window from the hallway had thick blinds closed as tight as possible. Pam bustled them to the next office.

“Jung’s office is next. Bernie fancies putting a copy machine in here if she can commandeer a new one. Ramirez broke the last one a few days ago. Pulled it apart piece by piece to check for surveillance equipment.”

“What if Jung does return?” Reid asked.

“We haven’t been given final notice yet, but Jung’s leave runs out next week, and I think it’s safe to say she’s decided not to return.”

“Sorry,” Reid offered. Jung’s office had light-blocking blinds on the outside windows. Her window onto the hallway had the blinds drawn shut too. There were pictures of her husband on the desk. A plant was dying a slow death by the shuttered windows. The computer screen was black. Her in-box was empty. Her out-box was empty too. It was a very depressing space.

“I’ll miss her,” Larsson sighed as she closed the door. “Next is Ramirez’s office. Do not enter, under threat of death. His exact words.”

Reid glanced at the gray metal door and looked nervously back at Larsson.

“I’ve always wanted to put a skull and crossbones on his door, spell out CAUTION in several languages. Auchtung, baby. But I’m worried he will fail to see the humor in it. Best not to rock that boat,” she decided. Reid looked at the office again. The window into the hallway was blocked tight, covered with cardboard, taped awkwardly with silver duct tape. That said all Reid needed to know about Ramirez. Larsson tugged on his arm, continuing the tour.

“Right around the corner are the facilities – a unisex bathroom. It’s big. It’s bright. It’s very clean. There’s even a skylight, and it doubles as a fire escape. There's a ladder you can pull down to climb out. You don’t know what kind of tantrum we had over one big bathroom instead of two small, separate ones. The gentlemen were afraid we were going to give them girl cooties. Anyway. Across next is the lunchroom, déjà vu. Andy redecorated both the bathroom and the lunchroom for us. Hilda doesn’t like these rooms. Says they’re too bright for such small spaces. I’ve threatened violence if Hilda moves any of the pictures or decorations. Andy was wonderful to have around, so bright and sunny. She always, always had on a smile. Hilda doesn’t do sunny and bright, and she is doing her level best to erase any trace of Andy around here, and I won’t stand for it.”

Davies gave Reid a quizzical glance. He wasn't sure how to respond, but was sure she would be asking him all sorts of questions later. They hurried behind Larsson as she bustled along, turning a corner.

“My office is next. Excuse the mess. I think better when I spread out my thoughts. I’m here every day but Tuesday. I work from home Tuesdays. They are encouraging those who can telecommute to do so, and so I have been. I love Tuesdays. Say ‘Tuesday’ to me, and I can’t help but smile.”

Larsson’s big window from the hallway had the blinds pulled up and away, showing the chaos inside, maybe even flaunting it. She opened her door to let them see the avalanches close up. There were scattered papers, boxes of work, a large desk spread with several different open task folders. Her computer was scrolling a screen-saver of travel pictures. She was lingering for a reason, Reid knew instinctively.

A particular picture came up on-screen. It was of Pam with her partner, both smiling happily, their arms around each other. The next one was of them kissing in front of the sunset in a tropical location. They had large white flowers in their hair, and were wearing native clothing. Her partner looked perfectly at home in the environment, being a short, rotund woman with long, dark hair and Polynesian features. Pam looked completely alien though, with her tall frame, cold blue eyes, and dishwater blonde hair.

Larsson stared at the screen, and quickly back at Reid.

“That’s Hon. Ahonui. My patient one. We met in Minnesota when I was at a field office there. The pictures are from March in Hawaii. Our third anniversary. Hon got pregnant on that trip. TMI?” she wondered. 

“IVF?” Reid asked.

“Yes, IVF,” she said. "We have been trying for two years now." 

“Congratulations,” Reid offered. Pam beamed.

“Were you married in Hawaii? I didn’t think they allowed same-sex marriage,” Davies protested.

“Hawaii recognizes but does not perform same-sex marriages,” Reid replied. Davies nodded quietly.

“You're always welcome in my pig pen, as Hilda calls it, if you have questions or you need anything. Resist the urge to tidy in here though, if you're prone to that sort of thing. I have to fight Hilda tooth-and-nail to keep her out of here, hence the sign,” Pam said, flipping around the cardboard placard hanging on her office door. 

It proclaimed in large medieval script “#11 - THOU SHALT NOT TIDY MY OFFICE”. 

“You'll need to watch out for her. She's a bit of a God nut. Doesn't approve of alternative lifestyles. Doesn’t approve of coarse language or bad behavior. Or bright and shiny places. Or adorable sweet admins who preceded her. Hilda didn’t find the humor in my sign either. But she’s not touching anything, and that’s my main concern.”

Larsson hustled them past three more doors which were closed and locked.

“Empty, left for Thailand; empty, transferred to Fort Meade; empty, ran away with a very dishy blonde from Las Vegas,” she reported, touching doors as she went around the next corner. She stopped at the next-to-the-last door, which she unlocked with a key she pulled out of her pocket. What she was doing with the key was anyone’s guess. It occurred to Reid that if Bernie was the lady of the manor, then Pam was her seneschal.

“Here you are. You two will share this space, I guess, unless Bernie wants to put Davies in one of the other offices. Sorry it's like this. My advice is to arrange your office today while Hilda isn’t here, or Hilda will be poking her nose in, telling you how you should arrange it, moving it around when you’re not looking if you aren’t careful. It’s a nice place. You have a nice windows, a view towards the forests. Long walk to the bathroom though. Jung used to be in here, because she was the last hired, but the closer she got to her due date, the more often she had to go, so I moved her from here to the office over around the corner, so it was a straight shot to the bathroom. She was in there a lot too. Poor dear. Then we had the copy machine in here, but Ramirez flipped out and tore that apart. Anyhow. Welcome,” she said, giving Reid the office key. “Pay no attention to Rock or Ramon. They’ll calm down once they realize holding their breath and kicking and screaming isn’t going to make Bernie change her mind. I’m sure they’ll invite you into their boys-only club sooner or later. Then you can watch football, scratch yourselves in private places, and do all those sorts of things you do when women aren’t around.”

“Not likely,” Reid murmured as Rock’s voice raised high again. 

“I told you, I don't trust him! He’s in BED with the RUSSIANS!”

“I doubt that very seriously,” Larsson defended softly, teasing a thin smile on her face, watching the blush that crept across Reid’s features.

“HE LEAVES OR I LEAVE!” Rockford proclaimed. Larsson rolled her eyes once more.

"Don't worry, dear. He threatens to leave every other week."

“It’s not the most tranquil work environment, is it?” Davies asked. Larsson chortled, patting her on the shoulder.

“Our biggest problem here in Cryptology is there are two people who think they’re in charge, and only one of them actually is the boss. Rock can’t handle the fact a competent, intelligent, superior female agent is telling him what to do. I think he’s the reason Andy left, because he was coming onto her. Watch yourself around that one, okay, Davies? You have my full permission to drop him to the ground if he pulls anything funny with you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” April nodded.

“We’ve got one agent AWOL who is not returning but is afraid to say so. We’ve got a brooding loner with paranoid leanings who doesn’t want anyone nosing into his projects, although this is supposed to be a team effort when it comes to larger tasks. He’s been obsessing over the same project for almost half a year, and he’s going slowly crazy because he’s getting nowhere on it, but the problem is, that’s because it’s not a puzzle, it’s a goose chase. But he’s convinced it’s the answer to life itself, because he’s never wrong. Ever.”

Larsson paused for a deep breath.

“Then there’s me. I’d like to think I’m pretty normal. Others would disagree, like Hilda, who thinks I'm going to burn in Hell. Now we have you, Reid. Pretty normal. Others will disagree, obviously. If Hilda says one nasty thing to you about your sexlife, let her have it with both barrels. Don't let her walk all over you. I suspect your transition will be rocky because you’re more comfortable with books and dead things than you are with real live people. You aren’t good in peer situations, because you’re always younger and smarter and stranger than your co-workers. You stand out in a crowd. All your life, you’ve been misunderstood for your differences, teased and tormented, made to know your place is outside the herd. Relax. You'll fit right in. We’re all different here. None of us is in the herd either. I prefer to believe that’s a good thing. We’re all different, but some of us are a little more different than others. None of us play well with others, so you’ll fit right in to our little asylum.”

Larsson paused for another breath.

“I didn’t mean anything about your mother with that remark, by the way. We’ve always called this our asylum, for reasons that should be abundantly obvious. Don’t take it personally.”

“I won’t,” Reid promised.

“I'm sorry the others are being so rude, but I for one am glad you're here. But you, Davies. You’re the puzzle. Why bring you here? We have Hilda. I don’t like her, but she’s a competent and capable administrative assistant if you can get her to stop talking about God long enough. Our politics clash, but that’s life, suck it up, do your job. We’re here to work – not make friends. But why does Bernie think Reid needs personal help? Is it saying more about you, or more about Reid, that he requires a minion?”

“Larsson,” Reid warned softly.

“Okay. She’s not your minion. She’s your assistant,” Pam replied at once. “At least you won’t be chasing her around her desk like Rock was with Andy. I heard Hotchner is the jealous type, that he's very possessive of you. He got Dr. Forni shipped off to San Diego. I bet he keeps you on a very short leash.”

“TMI,” Davies interjected, looking away.

“So will you be encrypting or decrypting?” Larsson asked Reid, turning those cold blue eyes on him.

“Decrypting, I suspect,” he answered.

“Make yourselves as home. Bernie should be done calming down Rock and Ramon soon. If you need anything or you have any questions, dial me up or walk around the corner.”

Larsson hurried away. Seconds later, loud rock music burst to life in her office. Her door closed, somewhat muting the sound of Led Zeppelin.

Davies sighed heavily, and pushed aside a pile of paper in order to sit down on an office chair. She put her elbows on her knees and pouted for a second or two. Reid leaned against the edge of the desk, and let his satchel slide to the floor. They stared nervously at each other.

“Who’s Dr. Forni?” Davies asked as she straightened up again. 

“It’s a long story,” Reid avoided the question.

"We should rescue that poor plant in Dr. Jung's office," Davies suggested. "I can't believe they left it in there to die that way. It's inhuman to treat a plant like that."

Their workspace looked exactly like someone had regurgitated all the working parts of an office into the room and left it all as it had landed. A phone began to ring from somewhere under the chaos that covered the top of the large desk. There were several reams of paper tossed about as if in a frenzy. Paper trays that had been yanked out of an ancient copy machine were stacked haphazardly about, but there was no sign of the rest of the machine. The windows facing the outside looked newer than the heavy blinds. There were scuff marks in the paint around the windows. Reid wondered for one wild moment if Ramirez had chucked the copy machine out of the building.

"I'd answer it if I could find it," Davies said as she stood and lifted a computer tower with loose wires falling out of its side. Pieces of paper slid everywhere in response.

“Let the phone go to voice mail,” Reid decided. He took a step towards the portal and closed the door. Then he realized that was a tactical error, because the room was plunged into complete and absolute darkness. The shades on the outside windows were light-blocking shades, and the blinds on the big window that faced the hallway were also closed tight. Reid fumbled along the front wall in search of a light switch, and nearly decapitated Davies, as she was doing the same thing but headed in the opposite direction. She stumbled, squeaked, and grabbed Reid around the legs to climb back to her feet.

Reid found the switch, flipped it, and nothing changed. The lights had been disconnected.

“Damn,” he muttered. Davies squawked as Reid fumbled for the pull cord for the blinds on the hallway window. Behind him, there was a landslide of paper off the desk. Davies was feeling her way around the room. Reid decided it would be more prudent to stay right where he was -- out of the way. There was a click, click, click. An ignition switch? No. A lumiere floor lamp came to life in the corner to the left of the door. Davies was stepping on the white pedal on the floor next to the lamp. The light was dim but cozy.

“Why would they disconnect the overhead lights?” she wondered.

"Unless I miss my guess, Dr. Jung was prone to migraines," Reid supplied helpfully. Davies narrowed her eyes and gave him a mystified glance.

The phone began ringing again. This time, Reid’s cell phone also rang, in opposition to the desk phone, so one would ring and the other would answer, like amorous crickets in tall grass searching for one another. Reid fumbled in his pockets and located his cell as Davies wandered around in the disarray, searching again for the hidden desk phone. She pushed aside a jumble of cords, opened the top drawer, and triumphantly lifted the heavy, black receiver.

“Hello?” Reid said. 

“Hello?” Davies said.

“REID?!” Morgan boomed loudly. Reid could hear jet engine sounds in the background. “We’re leaving for Topeka, at the airstrip now. Hotch said to let you know where we were headed, and to remind you to pick up Jack from Jessica’s, and tell you not to forget that Jack has his first appointment with Dr. Sharp at six- thirty.”

“Will do,” Reid replied, wondering why Hotch hadn't called him.

“Did you get your delivery yet?” Morgan asked, mischief in his voice.

“Not yet,” Reid said, suddenly very suspicious.

“Hotch sent you a few things for your new work space. You’ll know when it arrives. We’ll call you when we land, let you know what we need from you. Garcia emailed you the case specifics. Is your computer up and running?”

“I’m not sure there’s an entire computer here,” Reid said, surveying the parts on the desktop. Davies concurred with his assessment.

“Gotta run! Play nice with everyone.” 

“Be safe,” Reid pleaded.

Spencer disconnected the call with dread in his heart. He was feeling lonely for Morgan’s company, and simultaneously knew that Prentiss had not yet announced her imminent departure. Morgan was way too cheerful to have received news like that this morning. Davies set down the receiver. Had Morgan been on both lines?

There was a shriek of alarm from the outer vestibule. Davies became suddenly very peeved.

“Now what’s his problem?” she muttered, heading out the office door and towards the sound.

“Where’s my EPI-pen? I touched the box. I need my EPI-pen!” 

“Calm down, Ramon,” Bernie answered.

“Who ordered peanut bars? Who brought peanuts in here!? I'm deathly allergic. I’ll swell up and die! This is very serious! Get it away from me!!”

“Jesus Christ! Will you please stop being so completely hysterical!?” Davies yelled forcefully.

Seconds later, Davies returned to Reid’s office, closed the door, and leaned against it. Reid smiled appreciatively in her direction, and she shrugged both shoulders.

"It's time someone said it," she replied.

Davies set a large box of peanut bars on the corner of Reid's desk, and handed him the other box. It was wrapped in brown paper and sealed with scotch tape that was coming loose. Spencer immediately recognized Aaron’s inability to successfully wrap a box – hence the reason Reid wrapped all the presents for birthdays and other special occasions.

Reid retrieved a letter opener from the pencil cup on the floor, and carefully released the brown paper. Inside was a brand-new coffee maker and several bags of coffee. A piece of Hotch’s desk stationery lay on top. Aaron had drawn a big heart on the page and nothing more. Reid set down the coffee maker, picked up the page from Hotch, and folded it away in his satchel.

“I’ll make coffee, and start on this mess. Why don’t you see if you can get several spare keys made?” Reid suggested, giving Davies the office key. “Davies? You are not my minion. You are not my assistant. You are my colleague. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me that,” he winced.

“Is our realm to be a democracy, sir, or a dictatorship?” 

“Think of it as a commune.”

“So you’re Jim Jones, and we’ll get along fine if I drink the Kool-Aid?”

Reid frowned at the analogy.

“No,” he replied. “Think of it as a meritocracy. We're a team. Your input is equally as valuable as anyone else's input is here.”

“Okay. We’re a team. But we’re as small as a team can get,” April pointed out, not without a hint of humor, as she headed back out the door with the key in hand.

Davies passed Ensign James in the hallway coming away from the elevator. Arthur went in through the out door, which Davies had left propped open with a rubber toe-stop that had been behind it. James started down the hall. He stopped at Reid’s office and came in, tapping lightly on the door as he entered.

“Everything okay, Doc?” he asked. Reid was on the floor, organizing sheets of paper by color and size. Spencer had a peanut bar in his grip and was nibbling as he sorted. Coffee was already brewing in the pot, which Reid had stationed on a small filing cabinet by the door.

“Meh,” Reid replied, wiggling a hand to indicate things were so-so.

“Can these people not communicate in a normal tone of voice?” James whispered.

“Clearly not. Do me a favor?” 

“Sure, Doc.”

“See if you can find Garcia for me? Start in sub-basement C, Room 17. I tried to reach her on her phone, but there was no reply. It went straight to voicemail. I need her help.”

“Dr. Reid, my responsibility is watching out for you,” James protested. "I can't watch you and find Garcia at the same time. You want the Lieutenant busting my balls when she gets here?"

“Ensign, I’m on the twentieth floor of a government complex, surrounded by thousands of FBI agents, inside 547 acres of forests and training grounds. The Marines are right over the next hill. I'm pretty sure I’ll be perfectly safe for the fifteen minutes it would take to track down Garcia."

“Reid? Babydoll, this place is a nightmare to find. Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?”

Reid looked up to find Penelope Garcia standing in his office doorway. She was pushing a cart with various computer parts stacked on it – monitors, keyboards, towers, etc. Reid beamed at her.

“I’m so happy to see you, I could cry,” he babbled.

“You didn’t answer my emails, so I knew something was wrong with your terminal," Garcia said.

“Terminal being the operative word,” Reid said as he pointed to the disassembled tower and various parts under the frenzy of paper on his desk. Garcia put a hand to her heart as if she had been stabbed.

"Don’t worry. I’ll have you up and running in no time. His Grimness said in no uncertain terms he wants to be able to hear you and see you any damned time he needs you, so I’m here to make that happen,” Penelope said, patting one of the towers on her cart. “Oh, and speaking of Hotch, here. These are for you,” she said, handing him two thumb drives. Reid stood up, taking the thumb drives, and putting his arms around Garcia.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. I owe you big.”

“You owe me so big,” Garcia agreed, grinning broadly. “Let’s get to work here.”

“I’ll be around,” Ensign James said, giving Reid an informal tap on the back before vanishing out the office door and disappearing once more.


	11. Mr. Wu

Hotch was home at 1:00 p.m. on Friday, in desperate need of a weekend off. The house was too quiet. Reid and Jack were not back home yet.

There had been a time, not so long ago, when this had been the norm for Hotch – coming home to a silent house where he did not expect anyone to be waiting. When that had been his normal, he had been okay with it. He had made peace with the solitude. Now though, now that he was accustomed to seeing smiling faces when he walked through the front door, it actually hurt when no one there to greet him. He had been away on a case in Topeka for almost a week. What he had craved more than anything, what he had longed for all week, was to come home to the chaos of Jack and all his noise, and Reid and all his books and babble and clutter. Walking into an empty house felt so foreign to Hotch that he wasn’t sure he was in the right place.

Aaron walked across the living room to the small desk where Reid had been leaving notes, bills, mail, and to-do lists. Reid’s laptop was there, plugged in, charging. He must have located it finally. Hotch put down his attaché and his go-bag, wondering if Reid had also found their "sexual gratification devices". The quiet was eerie, as though he had lost all sense of hearing again. Where was Goody hiding? It was unusual for the cat not to come check out who was coming in the front door when it opened. Hotch plugged in his cell phone to charge it up. He sorted through the mail Reid had left for him. He wondered if there was a radio in the safe house somewhere, so he could have noise of some sort to drive away all the unsettling quiet.

Pink slips of paper on the small desk caught his eye. A note in Reid’s handwriting was clipped to the pink slips – Pick up dry cleaning! Hotch nosed through the mail. It was mostly junk anyway. He was sure to set aside the letter from “Professor Diana Reid” in a special place so Spencer would see it right away. It was a good sign that she was writing to Reid again. She must have decided he was alive after all. Hotch smiled, pocketed the slips of paper, checked to make sure he had his wallet, and headed back out the door.

Goody was waiting on the porch, looking ruffled, wide-eyed, and terrified. He scampered through the open door and raced up the stairs to the master bedroom, hiding under the covers on the bed.

A small thin dog streaked up onto the porch at a dead run and aimed himself for the open door. The animal was sleek and gray, and in a big hurry. Hotch closed the door, and the dog banged into it. The dog sat down, momentarily stunned. Hotch stared down at the dog, and it stared at up him. It took a breath, and it began to bark anxiously. It leapt up and backwards as it was barking, so that when it stopped to take another breath, it found itself to be a good foot back from Hotch from where it had started.

“Where did you come from?” Hotch rumbled at the little dog. It stopped barking, tucked its tail away, and folded down its ears. It stared at the porch slats, then gave Hotch’s ankles a deeply-suspicious glance and a threatening growl.

“Snippy! Don’t bark at Agent Hotchner.”

Hotch turned around to the familiar presence of Lieutenant Spaulding. She was putting her car keys away in her purse while climbing the porch steps. Hotch winced when he felt sharp teeth dig into his ankle without warning.

“SNIPPET!” Spaulding howled. “Come here!”

Hotch yanked his leg out of reach and let Spaulding take command of her misbehaving dog.

“Sorry, sir. He’s not good with strangers. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hotch said, glancing down at the holes in his pants leg, rubbing his fingers across the dog spit on his sock. Spaulding hauled the small, thin dog up to her hip.

“You, apologize,” Amy ordered. Snippet whimpered at her, then gave Hotch another timid bark and growl combo. “Somebody's got a bad case of sassy-mouth today. No doggy biscuits for you, mister,” Spaulding said, putting the dog down on the porch. He hid behind her legs and growled at Hotch some more. “Headed out again, sir?” Spaulding asked Hotch.

“I need to pick up the dry cleaning. Any idea when Reid is due home?”

“Usually around 6.” 

“You’re early.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged.

“Why do you have him along?” he asked, pointing at Snippet.

“He's part of my cover story. I told the nosy broad across the street that I’m your pet sitter,” Spaulding motioned a thumb over one shoulder. "She saw me come in yesterday morning, and next thing I know, she's knocking on the front door, demanding to know who I was, why I had a key, why I seemed to come and go as much as I pleased.”

“I’m sorry,” Hotch cringed.

“Don’t worry. The general is working on a plan to settle her hash, so to speak, and keep her out of Doc’s business.”

“You’re welcome to grab a nap on the couch,” Hotch suggested, jangling his car keys. Snippet perked up with excitement, and began to beg and run around in a circle.

“Snippet, no. You bit Agent Hotchner’s ankles. He’s not taking you for a car ride now. Bad doggies don’t get car rides,” Amy scolded lovingly. Snippet whimpered even more desperately. A sad smile tugged at Hotch’s mouth.

“I’ll be back,” Hotch said, heading for the driveway. He opened his SUV door, and went to get inside, and nearly sat on top of Snippet, who bounced up over the driver’s seat, between the two front seats, and sat in back on the passenger seat on the right, panting, happy, ears high and tag going a mile a minute.

Spaulding came over to the car, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry, sir. Snippy, get out of there,” she ordered, pointing at the ground next to her feet. The whippet looked crest-fallen and confused.

“What the hell. Climb on in,” Hotch said to Spaulding. “Come on,” he said when he knew she wanted to refuse.

Spaulding opened the passenger door and climbed up. Snippet was in her lap a second later. As they were pulling out of the driveway, Hotch glanced up at the house. Goody was in the upstairs window, checking to see if the coast was clear. Spaulding kissed Snippet on the nose, and he wagged his tail in glee. Goody disappeared from the window, sliding down the curtains with his claws as he vanished from sight.

It wasn’t until he was at the counter of Wu’s Dry Cleaners that Hotch took a good look at the pink slips he had pocketed. Were these things calculated right? Spaulding waited patiently in the SUV, fussing with her cell phone, taking pictures of Snippet in the driver's seat. The small Asian man who greeted Hotch took the tickets when they were offered. He frowned, and looked up at Hotch. Was there a mistake with the total? Hotch hoped so!

“What happen to Skinny Guy?” Mr. Wu asked, hitting the big white button on the swinging cord that dropped from the ceiling. It was used to operate the rotating rack machine which spun down and around the two-story building, something akin to a toy train railroad or a wild, hanging rollercoaster. 

“I’m….” Aaron started.

“Oooh. You are size 38 pants, 36 waist. I thought it was odd that sizes were mixed together. 38, 36. 38, 30. Then I think maybe Skinny Guy went on big diet. But shoulders too big to fit. Different style too. One likes wool cardigans. One likes expensive silk ties. I was curious.”

“How much do I owe you?” Hotch tried again. His question was ignored though.

“Skinny Guy already paid. When Skinny Guy called Mrs. Wu about the wedding dress, 'please be careful, is very precious,', I begin to get the picture,” Mr. Wu, said, his smile growing. “You have threesome? Yes? Where is lucky lady?”

Hotch blinked at Mr. Wu. “Wedding dress?” Aaron breathed.

“No worry. Dress come out beautiful. No more smoke smell. Mrs. Wu? She fixed buttons on the bodice. Replaced missing seed pearls too. So beautiful. Very pretty. Nice choice. Your wife, she has very good taste.”

Mr. Wu continued to operate the swinging frame as he spoke. Very familiar dark suits and jackets and woolen cardigans wrapped in plastic began to appear, racing down the frame to the bottom floor, around to the front counter. A plastic bag came into view, frothing, white, and gleaming. Haley's wedding dress floated down the rack, slowly, slowly, and seemed to hover in the air above the counter like a disapproving, headless specter.

“See? Perfect again. You wait right here. I get Mrs. Wu. She has safe box for you. You have to store properly so it will last long time. Mister? What is the matter?”

Hotch breathed in and out. In and out. He put a hand over his mouth to quiet the sobs that were unconsciously escaping. He was suddenly having a difficult time breathing. He needed to be outside. He turned and pushed the glass doors open to the sound of wild bells and surprised exclamations from Mr. Wu.

Hotch was sitting on the sidewalk outside the dry cleaners when someone started licking his face and whining in sympathy for his sorrow. Snippet climbed between his knees and lapped away his tears.


	12. Photographs and Memories

Reid was home by 6:30 with Jack and two large pizzas in tow. Because Reid’s hands were full, Jack took up a defensive position at the front door, arms open, body hunched downward. Reid nodded, and then unlocked the door. Goody did not try to jump out the open aperture, much to their surprise. They hurried inside, nonetheless, and closed and locked the door. Jack cackled mischievously as he ran to the side window and opened the curtains.

“She’s at the downstairs window. She’s taking down the time,” the boy reported, staring across the street. “Why does she care when we come home?” he asked.

"She thinks it's her business to know our business," Reid replied, as he headed to the small desk and rooted around. Jack flew past him and snatched the pizza boxes from his hands, heading towards the kitchen. Reid sniffed at the air. Did he smell spice tea? Hotch’s SUV hadn't been in the driveway when Reid had pulled Bessie in, but he might have put his car in the garage. Spencer turned his attention to the desk again.

“Fuck. They’re not here. Where did I leave those slips?” Reid worried.

“Awwmmm,” Jack intoned. “Bad word. I’m telling.”

“Sorry. I meant to say ‘darn’.”

Jack took off his backpack and slung it on the bottom stair, and hurried over to Reid’s side to help him root around the desk, through newspapers and unopened mail. He lifted the laptop and looked underneath. Reid lowered his satchel to the floor by the desk, and noted that Hotch’s attaché was there. He felt his heart lift at the sight of that stodgy, boring, dark brown valise. Next Reid saw the letter from his mom. He picked up the envelope, hugged it, then putting it back down.

“What do they look like?” Jack asked. 

“They’re small and pink,” Reid said.

“Maybe Goody thought they were mice,” Jack said.

“I have to have those to get the dry cleaning. Mrs. Wu is a stickler for having your tickets, or else no pick-up.”

Reid glanced up at the stairs when he heard the landing creak. Goody came down, and sauntered around Reid’s ankles. Jack raced up the flight and threw himself around Hotch’s legs.

“DAD! You’re home!!” he exclaimed happily. “We have pizza!”

“Good to see you too, buddy,” Hotch stammered. He looked tired, as though he had been awakened from a nap. There was cat hair on his chest, as though Goody had been snuggling up to him. His eyes were glued to Reid, who had a sense something was wrong. “Jack, could you give me a couple minutes to talk with Papa?” Aaron added.

"Are you going to yell at him for saying ‘Fuck’?” Jack grinned.

"No. But I will yell at you if you repeat it again,” Hotch said as he flashed dark eyes at his son. “Go pick out a movie,” he added more gently, tousling Jack’s hair.

“Sorry, it slipped out,” Reid whispered after Jack bounced down the stairs and headed into the den where the tv was set up.

Hotch came down the stairs slowly, rubbing one cheek. He slid his arms around Spencer and held him close. Reid was surprised by the emotion behind the hug. Hotch smelled like spice tea with a hint of bourbon. That was not a good sign at 6 p.m. Goody was rubbing against the back of Hotch’s legs, pawing at him, kneading his calves for him. If Reid sat too long and stared away in the distance too hard, Goody would sidle up to him and do the same thing, so the cat had an instinct that Hotch was upset and needed comforting.

“Thank you. I… I don’t deserve you,” Hotch said. He let go of Reid for a second in order to bend down and pet Goody.

“You’re welcome,” Reid replied, puzzled. He squeaked when Hotch hugged him again, this time even tighter. “Have you seen the pink ticket slips that were on the desk?” Reid asked.

“It’s okay.”

“I need to pick up the dry cleaning, but Mrs. Wu won’t let me have so much as a dress shirt if I don’t have all the right tickets.”

“I picked up the dry cleaning already,” Hotch said, his nose against Reid’s neck. “It took five trips, but it’s all here.”

“Oh,” Spencer said in a small voice. “Oh, bleep.”

“I should have told you Haley’s things were in the guest room,” Hotch murmured. Reid slid his fingers up through Aaron’s hair, and nuzzled against his scruffy cheek. If Hotch had picked up the dry cleaning, that went a long way to explaining the smell of bourbon. “I didn’t want…. didn’t know… didn’t want you to feel…”

“Hotch,” Reid murmured back. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay, you bastard. You made me cry in front of Mr. Wu.”

Reid snorted softly, and his eyes filled with mirth and sympathy.

“It’s not funny," Hotch continued. "I’ll never be able to pick up the dry cleaning again, ever. Spaulding had to drive me home. I was so embarrassed,” Aaron whined. Reid cleared his throat and quelled his humor.

“Haley’s books have been wrapped in tissue paper and boxed up. Very well labeled so you can find them whenever you need them. Her other things have been wrapped and boxed up as well. I didn’t know she collected Precious Moments figurines. Jack and I put them away together. All except for one, which he has on his nightstand. I hope you don’t mind," Reid rambled.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Reid retrieved the thumb drives from his jacket pocket and slid them into Hotch’s hand.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Spencer soothed. 

“What’s this?” Hotch asked.

“You owe Garcia a big thank you, and maybe some nice earrings,” Reid suggested. “Over 3000 pictures, digitized and restored, everything that she could save. Your baby pictures, Haley’s baby pictures. Middle school, high school, college. Wedding pictures. Honeymoon pictures. Vacation pictures. Jack’s baby pictures. I can’t believe you didn’t have them on disc. That you had them hidden away like that. What were you thinking?”

“I let Haley down, again,” Aaron mourned. 

Reid touched Hotch’s chin and looked him in the eyes.

“You did not let Haley down. I don’t ever want to hear you say that.”

“I let her down so many times,” Hotch intoned sadly. Reid studied him, then narrowed his eyes. Perhaps tenderness was not the right approach to snap Aaron out of his funk?

“Aaron?” Reid suggested sharply. “Why don’t you quit self-flagellating long enough to plug these into the computer and share them with Jack? He would love to see them. So would I, actually.”

Aaron blinked at him in surprise, and shook his head no. "I don't think I could handle that right now. Not like this."

"You'll cry in front of Mr. Wu and Lieutenant Spaulding, but you won’t cry in front of Jack? I’ve got news for you. If there’s anyone on this planet who needs to see the human side of you, it’s your son," Reid insisted firmly.

Hotch sniffled, and Reid stroked his face, nosing kisses to his mouth. Spencer paused for a second, brows dipping.

“Don't take this personally, hon, but you kinda taste like wet dog," Reid observed.

Hotch's grim façade cracked with a brief, wibble of a laugh. Tears welled up in Aaron's eyes. Reid's features went soft and kind, all harshness fading away. He nuzzled Hotch's ear.

"Jack misses Haley too. Just as much as you do. I’ll bet he’s never laid eyes on most of those pictures. He needs to be able to talk to you about her, needs to remember her with you.”

“What pictures?” Jack asked from behind them, his eyes wide and hopeful. Reid took the thumb drives away from Hotch and gave them to Jack. Now there was no turning back.

Aaron reached out for Jack’s hand and walked towards the desk, picking up the laptop that was resting there. He looked unsurely back towards Reid, who was no more than a step behind him. Spencer snatched up the letter from his mother and opened it on the way to the kitchen.

“You two get everything set up,” Reid said. “I'll get plates for the pizza. Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”


End file.
